Saturday, June 11, 2011
I recently read that it takes ten thousand hours of practice to master anything. Of course, I start trying (operative word) to do the math in terms of writing. How many hours have I logged? No idea. I've spent a long time wanting to write, a long time studying writing, and a long time actually writing but am I in the proverbial ballpark? Not sure. At the magic mark, will I know or have I passed it like a city on a road trip without any notable signs, a place designed to take you somewhere else? Or as so many cards and pillow samplers suggest, is the journey the important thing? I have come to the conclusion that I have no fucking idea.
Also, I have a summer cold which adds to the surreal aspects of this exercise. Cold medicine makes everything trippy, not like anything really good, but trippy like you never quite know where you are. I suppose that's a lot like writing. You're always on the road, hoping to see something great. But what is it you're looking for? Evil clowns? Museums dedicated to things that you didn't know that happened in the first place? Whatever it is, the road will take you there. Stay alert. You never know when you'll hit the mark.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"You're going to kick me out of my own trauma?" Nurse Jackie
Movie suggestion: Midnight in Paris
Benedictions and Maledictions