My current status is “up in a cabin in the woods” in North Georgia. Babbling brook and multiple decks stuck back far enough that there’s no real noise other than that. Not too shabby. Having been unable to go to our cabin in Canada this year, this will certainly do. Whether here or up north, when I’m in a quiet place, my mind immediately goes to writing. I wonder what I would be capable of producing out here with no distraction. Funny that the first thought is some sort of fiction, maybe just a short story. Then I laugh and laugh. I’m not saying never. I just don’t think that’s for me. 

My inner monologues seem to flow right out of me.  Nostalgia to juxtapose a point. Sarcasm, to drown out the pain and a little dose of snark to keep us entertained. 

What would pour out if tried to structure it?  Could I set a topic and write about it for multiple posts?  What would be compelling?  

I’ve written some pieces for our races and a magazine and it’s proven to be harder than this. This is because “technical” writing doesn’t benefit from the jumpy false starts and meandering. It needs framework, structure, rules. Things I  try and defy on the dally and certainly am concerned with forcing over this form of release. I’m not sure I have the energy or interest for re writes and editing, even if it’s getting better writing out of me. At least not today. 

I think I consider myself very lucky to be able to express myself this way at all and I fear effing it up. If I force it into the constructs I despise, will I in turn despise it and let it go?  I think probably. 

This is maddening if you want to be more of a writer. The knowing that by making yourself do something a way you aren’t sure you’re comfortable with could kill the joy of that thing, but knowing to do it better and more, you may have to force it.  

These are the types of posts I often question even publishing.  The inner working of writing. It’s like having a meeting about a meeting to decide when to have the next meeting. Stupid in a sense. Well actually stupid in every sense, but whatever. It’s my party. Sometimes the band plays a song you hate and you go get a drink or walk outside for a few. I’m the band and you’re in the middle of Mustang Sally. Couple more minutes and we will play something that rocks. 

As we turned off the main road and up the side of a mountain to our little retreat for the week, we passed a gated community called “the forest has eyes”. My son thought this the creepiest name for a neighborhood (probably a couple of houses).  My wife and I thought it was hilarious. Creepy but cool. I think I could get used to this quiet place. To see what it drew out of   me. To awake early and look out in to the dark mornings and nights. To see if there were eyes looking back. 

#hugsandhi5s