I often wish there was structure to these blog postings. I wish that there was consistency. Here are three posts, in two days, and yet there is almost a month gone by without a peep from me. I suppose it’s part of my character. I’m often terrible at continuation, and I leave a lot of work unfinished. I don’t want this blog to be like that, so I hit the ground running whenever I have something to say.
Maybe I should be more anecdotal. I could try to write about an instance each week, or each day, but even that is inconsistent at best. I can’t say that every Friday, when I attempt to catch the bus in time for a nine am start, I’ll meet some cooky character that will warm my writer’s heart and inspire me to put pen to paper – or fingers to keys as is more often the case.
It doesn’t help that I’m often in my own little world. I am one of those adults – and I use this term loosely – that still sees the magic in the gaps of reality. I am the child that sees the creatures running through the trees alongside the car as they speed down the motorway, or the little handprints pressed against the aeroplane, picturing the world within the clouds. I am still that person, who believes they are a dragon whenever the air is cold enough to mist my breath.
Honestly, I hope I never lose that.
Perhaps creativity is chaos, and lack of structure is my structure. I’m happy to live in a bedroom that’s messy – never dirty, but a pair of jeans and couple of hoodies strewn about the floor never hurt anyone. My thoughts jump from one train to the next, as though I have trouble controlling them on their Captain America leap of faith from idea to idea. I like to be surrounded by comfort, and I bask in the lived in feel of a place. Those who believe that a tidy house makes for a tidy mind has obviously never thought themselves anything of a creative writer.
If everything’s packed and squared away, neat in its box, how can you think outside it?
Perhaps the spontaneity of my writing, my whimsical nature, is what attracts people to my writing. I do try, when working on actual, proper, I’m-a-real-writer stories, to round off the untidy edges, and neaten up the crooked ends, but, again, that’s a little out-of-my-comfort-zone.
I could try to find balance, but its hard to break one’s habits, especially after so long abusing the powers of procrastination and the influence of impulse.
It’s at least something to consider, when another month may pass before I put pedal to the metal and start to write again…
Hopefully it won’t be such a significant gap.
Until next time!
Live Long and Prosper