So I have this writing project that I need to get done soon and its been a lot of planning and thinking and sinking into the world, which will be followed by an intense flurry of writing near or on the due date. The process (for that is what it hath become) is amenable to two things–high stress and last minute desperate creativity. I often suspect that sort of creativity is the best type. My Modus Operandi as a writer for some time now has been to make that desperation call to the ether and pull from it some wonderfulness that goes on to be fairly decent writing in our world.
The process is unsustainable. First off, the level of stress it brings to my mind, body, and soul winds up pushing me away from the keyboard at least until the next project rears it’s seductive head. At that point the process begins anew. Painfully. I do this with the blog too, though not as often. I wait until the end of the night and pour something raw and unfinished down the digital rabbit hole–a ten minute view into the peep show powered by the well worn coins of my psyche. Often the scene behind the glass isn’t at all what I hoped for or worth seeing. In time my other writing could become that way, unless I treat the ether with the respect I give the love of my life.
And the dedication.
So, now we are to the heart of it–the lesson, if you will. I have these jeans. For whatever reason the crotch of the jeans is always the first part to wear out for me. The more I wear them, the more likely the jeans are to give out. Oddly, the closer they are to giving out, the more I wear them, not thinking but perhaps thinking that I ought to get as many uses out of them now as I can. That only wears them out faster, because they don’t get a break or any time for the fibers to stiffen after repeated use. I’m not sure I’m even right about how to fix the jeans. I am certain that what I am doing is not working.
Perhaps the same can be said about my writing.