We (the dog and I) spotted this driveway sign as we made our way to a dead end this morning. I don’t customarily seek out dead ends, but no other end, in this instance, was available. Why do we refer to these streets with no outlets as dead ends? They aren’t dead ends at all. One may simply retrace his steps, return to the embarkation point, and set out upon a different path.
There’s a story idea in the wind!
We also encountered a smallish brown turtle sporting an intricate brown shell with black markings. T.J. (the dog) picked the turtle up, but he didn’t bite. I promptly took the poor thing from him. There’s enough death on this fifty-five mile per hour highway; we certainly don’t want to add to that. (Actually, T.J. relishes the thought of adding to that, but I’m vigilant.)
Now that I’m in Northwest Louisiana, temporarily living with my parents, the dog and I walk each day. A long walk in the morning, and a shorter walk as the sun seeks out the horizon. I enjoy these walks, and my ancient dog walks with a spring in his step each time we head out. We’re constantly discovering.
Not once, since we’ve started these walks, have we passed another person on foot. Not even a child.
Imagine that.
Yes, Lana, You Can Be A Paid Writer, Too
January 30, 2013 in Commentary | 1 comment
While perusing my email today I came across one of Chuck Wendig’s blog posts. His blog is terriblemiinds, and I’ll eventually figure out how to link to his blog via my blog. If you plug the name of his blog into Google, you’ll easily find his site.
The post I read is, Yes, Virginia, You Can Be A Paid Writer, Too. The entire post is worth reading, but one particular Wendigism slammed me in the chest like a basketball at close range. Here it is:
“It’s worth noting that your attitude through all this is very important. Writer’s block doesn’t exist, but general malaise and depression and disinterest do, and those must be combated.” -Chuck Wendig
As writers, we find ourselves drawn to the best of the best, and we learn from these penmonkeys (a Wendigism) as we compare ourselves, our styles and our accomplishments, to the writer we’re orbiting and drawing inspiration from. Sometimes, the comparison leaves us feeling as competent as a quadriplegic at a cup-stacking meet.
His writing is concise, informative, inspiring, intriguing, all that and more. My writing is Sad Sack shit that shouldn’t be left on a bathroom stall.
At those times we must remember what Chuck said about combating those demons: malaise, depression and disinterest. We must assume that Chuck hasn’t always been the proficient writer he is today. Once upon a time he stood in our shoes. He’s familiar with the whispers coming from the closeted realms of the mind. He fought the demons, and he won.
We can be winners too. We must believe that. We must fight. The only path to victory requires us to write our asses off, write our fingers to the bone, pour our words onto the page, send them into the world, and hope they succeed.