Ian Anderson 11 a.m., Oct. 27
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Today I began thinking about writing again because my reasons for not writing had run out: No time, too busy, new boy, too many birthday and social events, it’s beautiful outside, I have to clean the house, I have nothing to say, what if it sucks, I should be exercising, I write too much at work, maybe no one is reading, I’m hungry, I’m going on a date, it’s late.
Today I began thinking about what writing had done for me: It freed me, told a story, made me laugh, highlighted mundanities and transformed them into interestings, kept me in practice, let me be creative, created a world that was more than my job, excused my wine drinking, played with the words stuck in my head, made me feel like my English degree was worth something, it made me feel pretty.
Today I will begin writing again. It may not be good or interesting or read. I will write as I am moved to do so and as I force myself to practice art and discipline. I will write to battle my excuses and tell a random story about unimportant things that are important enough to notice for a moment. Writing will make me feel better about all the jokes made about BA’s in Literature. To write again will transform me and add to my feeling of wholeness, identity and beauty.
Today, my only story is this one: The story of why I didn’t write and why I will continue to write. Perhaps tomorrow I will get a stupid text, go on a bad date, walk on a new path, rant about something random or get back in the ocean. Today I will just write about writing so that tomorrow I can tell that new story and begin writing again.