Hey, Fickle Readers! Someday, I’ll get back to Mighty Tiny Bill and his imprisonment in plastic, but today I’m starting a new challenge for myself: writing on the blog for 10 minutes a day.
I don’t know if I can achieve this every single day. I don’t even know if I can hold myself to writing for ten minutes. I tend to write forever. And ever and ever and ever. Then I get bored and stop. That’s how my fickle mind works. I have scraps of ideas, essays, stories, poems, and notes littering my hard drive. Sometimes I read them, and I actually like them, and I’m reading along and they end. Then I wish I’d finished them, because I want to see how things turn out. But as poet and fiction writer Annabel Banks tweeted this morning: “Reading process = inspiring. (Writing process = hard!)”
Oh, Annabel, how I wish I could alter this universal set of equations. If only writing were the easy part. Then I’d be coughing up readable material like Neil Gaiman in a thunderstorm. But alas, I’m only me, and I have no magician’s wand to wave, turning all ambitious writers into Shakespeares or Neil Gaimans or Jane Austens or Joyce Carol Oatses or Zora Neale Hurstons or Haruki Murakamis. And now my ten minutes are up, so I can’t even resolve the can of worms I just opened up.
Peace out, Fickle Readers. This is the chatter that goes on in my head.