There is an ancient story I've heard told and retold in different forms for years, with the original dating back to Rumi, the 13th Century Persian poet. Or possibly even before that. This is a slightly modernized version I heard from my wonderful teacher, the great Coleman Barks. Stop me if you've heard it.
A man is riding a train when the conductor approaches him, asking for his ticket. The flustered man looks all around -- in his bags, his pants pocket, underneath the seat -- but he can't find his ticket anywhere. He looks up at the conductor, embarrassed.
The conductor says to the man, "What about your right breast pocket? You haven't checked there."
The man replies, "I can't look there."
"Why not?" Asks the conductor, "You've looked everywhere else."
"Exactly," replies the man. "If it's not there, I will have no hope."
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Friends, I have set some pretty aggressive writing goals lately. I don't know if you'll ever see the results of those aggressive goals, but you're going to see some of the process anyway. I'm promising myself consistent, disciplined hard work on some writing projects for the next six months, trying to overcome the casual relationship I've had with writing for the last.... oh, 25 years or so.
See, writing has always been my proverbial right breast pocket. I have wanted to write and enjoyed writing since I "published" a poem about a fire drill in second grade in our elementary school's version of a lit mag. I followed writing through my college English major, and have dabbled in it periodically ever since. Through all my tumultuous relationships and life and career changes, writing has been my constant friend and companion, a cache of possibilities always honored but never fully explored.
I've always held something back. Namely, the time, discipline and dedication it requires to really "make a go" of becoming an author (paid or otherwise). There have been a million "reasons" for this, mostly very sensible-sounding excuses related to paying rent and such. As long as I was putting my full-time energies into my real-life careers, which I've found mostly enjoyable and fulfilling, then writing could continue to be a distant dream, something I could picture doing once I'd retired to that beach house with an old typewriter and a soft yellow room where the tattered curtains blow gently in the ocean air.
Truth be told, my unwillingness to really try writing, on a big scale, has been all about fear. What if I'm no good? What if I finally sit down to do this thing and it turns out that I'm not the talented author my second-grade teacher was sure I would turn out to be, but just another hack with a blog and a dream? The potential wasted time and energy don't mean too much to me; but the loss of my "shadow career" as a writer, learning that my right breast pocket really is empty.... well, that would be pretty darn devastating. So I've avoided a little and distracted myself a lot, and kept writing as sort of an ace in the hole -- protection against any of life's failures because it is what I'm really supposed to be.
But lately I've been realizing that the train ticket is no good until you cash it in, and now that I'm barreling down hard on 35, I'm a little nervous that my tombstone will read "Nice lady. Once hoped to be a writer." That prospect is way scarier than being a mediocre or failed writer.
I've also been watching lots of friends taking big risks recently, following dreams most people might dismiss, opening themselves up to the world in a way that is scary just to watch, quietly making every moment count. They're inspiring, damn them!
So I guess it's time.
The blogging has been good, of course -- both personally and professionally -- but now I'm ready to raise the stakes. So, on the theory that when it comes to writing quantity begets quality, I'm committing to 30 blogs in 30 days in this space, hoping that the exercise will help me to steamroll over my inner critic and get the creative juices flowing for my offline endeavors.
A month of daily blogging could be a total Crapfest - and that's okay. But maybe to hedge against that possibility, I'm hoping to get some suggestions from all four of my readers (that's you) to get me started. Feel free to leave a comment with a blog title, subject, first sentence, whatever... and let's see if I can wrap my keyboard around it. Some days my blogging time is going to be super-limited, so I'm disclaiming all typos, grammatical errors and ridiculous endings now.
Ready?
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PS - For the pop culture impaired, this is who Morgan Spurlock is.
PPS - Am I really doing this? What am I thinking??
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