Tha Mo Ghaol Air Aird A' ChuainToday's Tune:
I write a lot about writing. I think a lot about writing. I write a lot... I write a lot.
As much as I love, live, breathe, and bleed words, sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in them. Well not so much the words themselves as the simultaneous promise and pressure of the words. It feels like I'm floating beneath the surface, holding my breath and waiting for the right moment to break.
Writing for yourself is a whole different world than writing with the goal of public consumption. They're both very personal, but one is safe and the other isn't. One is in your control, and the other is completely wild. In the wild, your hands aren't the only ones shaping the world. There are other hands, and hands guiding those hands, and even more hands that would grab and lift or tear and burn, for good reasons and bad reasons and no reason at all.
So it's important for me to come up for air, to gasp and look around and remember the stories I used to build just for myself. The way I used to sink into music and watch the colors swirling in my head. To dream and continue building upon that dream throughout the day. To experience things and feel the physical sensation of pressing it into my memory.
To watch the boats sailing across the bay and imagine what life must be like for the people living on those pinninsulas.
To find a reason not to be super grouchy when I have to get up at 6AM, especially when that reason is happy face balloons.
To wonder if this is modern art or just some creepy thing someone left for hikers to find because they thought it'd be funny.
To want to know the rest of this story.
And to imagine the adventures of Super Freesia, who saves the world by making everything smell super good.
Or, you know, just remembering that I can still be a writer even when I'm not thinking about writing 100% of the time.