My first love was writing. Nevermind Barbies and dress up; pass the pen and paper. Meaningless swirls and loops eventually turned into actual letters and words, sentences and stories. And I’ve always held my writing utensil a little wrong (the slight bump on my right ring finger, just under the nail, is old evidence of that), according to some. Stories are my passion, but these days I favor the quick gratification of short poetry. I can craft, edit and post right from my phone. That’s also part of the problem. There’s no real thought, except what I’m thinking in that moment. Add a glass of wine or two, and what I end up with in the morning is cold truth, but it doesn’t always get to the heart of the matter. As one of my college English professors used to scribble on my work, “There’s a poem under this…keep going.” I’ve gotten so used to just spitting out whatever comes to mind, it’s trickling into other parts of my life. Mulling over a text message for an hour instead of a day before hitting send seems like an eternity, and admittedly, I’m not a patient person. An overthinker, no doubt, but not patient. Yesterday I said goodbye, via text, to a quite wonderful (albeit Conservative) man, who recognized that I’m far from ready for a new relationship, but wanted to help me grieve my old one(s). As a friend. Instead, I said goodbye. Maybe what I’m not ready for is something so…real. Maybe if he reaches out again, I won’t be an idiot, and let him help. Maybe for now I can return to my first love, this crazy, solitary, wonderful writing thing.
So yes, writing. I was going somewhere with this. I’d like to freshen up the blog soon, and I’m appealing to you, my followers, for a little help. I’d like to know how you like viewing the blog, if there are improvements you’d like to see, in searching or navigating, or anything you’ve read that you’d like to read more of. Any feedback is welcome. Simply leave it in the comments below. If you viewed this post from the home page you might need to click on the post title to get to the comments.
Writing is my first love and oldest passion, but most nights when I have time for it, I trade that time in for a glass of merlot and a date or a TV show. On some of those dates, our conversation turns to their passion. Not passions I share, but passions that light up their faces and show their intelligence and what really sets them on fire. What they live for, sometimes. Not so very long ago, one of those dates talked about his love of riding his “bike,” his gorgeous Harley. How there was nothing like getting on it and night, getting into a zone, and just riding. Escaping. That’s what writing is like, or can be like, when I get into that zone. I hope to get back there soon. Maybe find some parts of myself I’ve been stuffing down into the dark, and see how they look in the light.