The War of Art - Steven Pressfield
'Aint that the truth!' Writing, now that we've crossed paths for a longer period of time, than an intersection where we used to meet, greet & part ways ... has become easy. And I don't mean that in a hubris-filled way, but in an embracing, sharing type of way. I guess the wonderment of it, in 'what's going to come out?' - When I free-write, peaks my curiosity. The love of it helps me embrace it. My novice helps me blindly fall for it. My innocence wards off the thoughts of, 'is this any good', 'who would benefit from reading this but me?', 'would anyone even want to read this, let alone benefit from it?'. Am I a writer? I must be ... I'm writing right? Or is it just a poor excuse/my version of writing. I haven't earned that distinction ... but I want to badly. An unattainable goal that I want to achieve. One that i'll only feel I accomplished when ... when I know. When I feel it. If I get to feel it. A goal so prolific that the Journey alone will prove to be fruitful in ways I can't yet imagine or understand. It flows easily. Passionately. At a fever pitch. Pours out like a popped open fire hydrant in the summertime. Is it good? Is it bad? That's all just subjective. I needn't concern myself with that. Is it getting done is the question. That's my concern. That's the issue. That's the elephant in the room. Getting the pen to physically cross paths with the paper ... that's the bitch. That's the darkness and this is the light. I guess you can't have one without the other. A necessary evil of sorts, until you grow and learn to function without it. Until you learn to use it (Resistance) and its strength, as a positive and powerful motivator. An H.I.D. light that's heavenly bright. A path that you've paved for yourself and of your own accord. One to look back on and be proud of. So sit down, let the pen flow, and make yourself proud.
~ Friday 07.12.13 @ 12:02am