Writing And I Go Way Back
It’s true.
I was that kid in school who liked writing papers. I’d just throw on some music, sit down, and let it fly.
But it wasn’t until a summer in college when came to understand the role of writing in my life.
I was traveling around Europe with two of my best friends. I decided to keep journal of the trip. It seemed like often times, I never really knew what I thought, or how I felt, about anything until my words hit the page. Sure, there’d be vague traces, but knowing meant scribbling them down and following their lead.
After I graduated with my liberal arts degree (read: no job offers) – I moved to the mountains.
I worked two jobs. One at a now defunct bookstore and the other at local restaurants and bars. The balance of time and money was perfect. I made enough money during the summer and winter to hit the road in the spring and fall.
My favorite part of traveling wasn’t the food, people, or exotic locals. It was reading and writing.
I was able to spend my days absorbed in words and I loved it.
My Notes
But I was reading so much, I realized I was forgetting all the knowledge and wisdom I was learning from one book to the next. So I started taking notes.
To this day, I’m never far from a highlighter when I’m reading.
And when I finish a book, I comb through it, page-by-page, copying all the passages I marked.
From poems and plays to theoretical physics and philosophy – it all gets typed up.
I call it my Compendium of Knowledge (working title).
I have no clue what, if anything, I’ll ever do with it…
Except what I always have.
Keep it going. Keep it growing.
My Wall Of Words
Perhaps you’ve noticed the picture of all the Post-It notes on my site.
That’s my dining room wall.
For years it sat empty. Until one fateful night.
It was during a rowdy game of drunken Scrabble, the kind where dictionaries and arguments are near, when the wall was born.
I wasn’t even the one who started it. Mo did. He stood up from the table and taped a word, complete with it’s definition, to my wall. He meant for it to be a joke.
Five years later my dining room wall was covered.
How else should a writer decorate his home?
My 34th Birthday Present To Myself
I believe everyone should give themselves a birthday present.
Some of mine have been things like climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, emancipating myself from crappy relationships, or going to a show.
However, for my 34th birthday I gave myself a project.
I decided I was going to write a poem-a-day for a year.
And I did. Yeah, sure. There were a lot of haikus, but still.
When’s the last time you gave yourself more work to do for your birthday?