Traveling. Without fear. Well with some fear, worry, anxiety. I write the same way. I suppose that's why the two seem connected. Travel is the best time for thinking; writing is the act of thinking. To combine the two seems natural. The cultural precedences of the "open road" "on the road" "road trips" "rocky road" the road is already taken by literature, so what do I hope to add to it?
The road is already taken over by semis, motels, inns, rest stops, planted trees, meek- dotted white lines, ferocious thick yellow lines. No, the road has no use for me but I still dare to venture out. With my half-baked plans, the closest I'm willing to go on my required post-graduate adventure. You know the kind, the one that allows me to be the free-spirit that romantic comedies have shown me to be (when my hair is down, not in a pony-tail) .
Where was I? oh yeah, free spirits.
the Adventure. It comes in many packages, RVs, used-Hondas, Euro-rail passes, backpacks. I've been attempting an adventure since 2006, the year of graduation, of growth, of change.
Shitty first drafts, right?
We're doing this. We're gonna write if it kills us.There's a stop that happens, a block. Thoughts are formed independent of writing. Whether it's a pencil or a keyboard, the thoughts stop, the art of language is stifled by the fear of reality.
The Spirit of Adventure. What would it look like? male of female? old or young? black, white, Asian, thick Russian accent? I'd say it's a child. Small hands, large eyes. Giggle at the sight of kitten. Desire to touch the soft fur.
No comments:
Post a Comment