Friday, April 3, 2009

BEDA Day 3

Hello, once again, and welcome to my blog.

Today, I did basically nothing of interest. I worked 4:45 a.m. until around 3:30 p.m. My brain is so much hammered pudding, left in the sun to rot. My thoughts whirl around each other, coalescing into convulsive shapes, fighting for dominance, losing coherence, and spiraling off into nothingness.

I am Jack's festering Medula Oblongata.

To tell you the truth, that tiny trip into strangeness actually makes me feel better. Like the cobwebs are peeling away from the surface, leaving my mind free to gulp down thick & weighty breaths of air, like a drowning man hitting the surface of the water, seconds before his aching lungs would have given out on him.

Sometimes, I think playing with words is part of my basal system, like I'm dying inside if I can't play with my vocabulary, my sentences, my cadence. Sad, but true, fact: I am not a writer. I stumble over trying to tie sentences together in an order that I feel actually gets across my sentiment, I babble and ramble just trying to put the pieces together. I thought of being a writer for a bit in my childhood, but I, quite quickly, realized it's a skill I just don't have.

Don't get me wrong, I never gave up on it, but it's something I struggle with to this day. Sure, I spent a portion of my high school years stringing together words into things I thought of as poetry, even wrote a couple that I don't mind that much to this day, and I spent time trying to write stories, convuluted and cliched as they may have been, but I'm just not someone who is going to write a great novel. I struggle with plot. Characters, I love to peel the layers and find out who they are. Scenes, I envision, fully imagined in detail, with colors, lights, and sounds, a benefit from my being visually enamored with the world around me since infancy. I try to sit down to string those things together into a coherant narrative, though, and it's an effort in futility.

I don't know why I'm even writing an entire blog about this. Strange, the things that come up when you sit yourself down to write everyday. I might end up learning more about myself during these 30 days than I care to. *grin*

Anyway, 3 down, 27 to go,

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