I could produce a mountain of material, and some of it might actually be good.
I could, possibly, produce a book a month, but I don’t know that I could guarantee consistent quality.
I could blog every day, with real and meaningful information and insight, but then I wouldn’t have time or energy for anything else.
That’s not to say that I don’t want to do these things. I do want to write more. So. Much. More. There are stories and essay topics that have been marinating in my brain for years now. One in particular dates back to 2000 and I’ve worked on it in fits and starts but I’m still figuring out the best approach. A few stories go back even further. Others have been put on side burners and back burners and waaay-back burners so that I can handle what I need to get through each day. But this is what it’s like to be a writer. I don’t think I’m unique in that regard.
But it does occur to me that if I were to blog or compose essays or whatever about everything of substance that I spend time pondering or mentally deliberating or exploring via thought experiment or just plain trying to figure out, I would be writing an awful lot more. Not covering every little thought, mind you, but giving play to the things I’ve actually given deep thought to. There are writers who do that, and some who even do it well. I would like to be one of those writers. So far, I have not been. I honestly don’t know where they get the energy. I would be interested in learning how to do this if it doesn’t involve massive amounts of sugar or caffeine, jeopardizing my health and relationships, or swearing a blood-oath to a demon.
Anyway, I’m here even when I’m quiet. And I’m always thinking and writing some really compelling* material in my head. (*If you trust my opinion on my own thoughts, but just the more interesting thoughts.) A small little bit of it actually makes it through my fingers and onto a screen or a page.
If you would like to see more from me, let me know what you’re interested in, and I’ll see what I can do.
Artwork: What I think, what I say, by Mohamed Ghonemi