Writing From the Trenches

Writing is a discipline – anyone out there doing it with a life overflowing at the rim can tell you that.  I think about writing as if from the trenches, a reporter of sorts living and breathing with helmet on, foxhole teeming with the things waiting to be written.

When procrastination strikes and my writing deadlines loom, I can certainly look to resources outside of myself – like Tweets that link to articles on how to get over the hump: “7 coercive Tactics That Will Force You to Write”.

More powerful for me is to ponder why I write in the first place.  I’ll never forget a trip to the Eastern Block in 1980 when there still was one.  East Germany and Czechoslovakia – thousands and thousands of people living in towns where I only saw a handful on the street; quiet and private, because they had to be.  Even the college students I met were tight-lipped with their opinions on everything.

So, having not forgotten those places at those times, I write to speak with the freedom my voice gives me.  I write to transform a page, a screen, and a mind with words and images that are eternal.  I write because if I do not, I have imposed a mediocre existence on myself.  I write because I am free to say what my mind imagines is worth writing.  I AM A WRITER!  And, WRITERS WRITE.

But, if this doesn’t work for me on a given day, then I employ the following two hardcore fail-safes.  First, I imagine I can talk with me in the future, when I am let’s say, 85-years old.  She tells me every time that writing made her life happy, and was necessary to take our life to its major stopovers.  If I’m still not moved, then I imagine I get the chance to speak with me at a much younger age, let’s say, 8-years old.  She tells me that writing will free her from her prison of a world not seeing her for who she is.

By the time I am done giving these tools their full attention, I am happy to be writing from the trenches. I AM COMPELLED TO WRITE OR I NEED TO CHECK MY PULSE.


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