Back in the Saddle

Well, I've decided to resurrect this long neglected (but never really forgotten) blog that I started over a decade ago.

This cyber version of my journal has/had gone the way of my hard copy diaries and journals -- I have several stored away in a chest that I sometimes take out. One thin book can cover over 3 years because of how infrequently I wrote in it. I start each one with the best of intentions:  I will write, every day. Or at least 2-3 times per week.

I promise, and I try, and for awhile, I do write fairly regularly. And then -- BAM -- I stop. I don't really know why; perhaps too tired, or after having spent all day at a computer, the last thing I want to do when I get home is write in my now chicken scratch  handwriting in a physical journal, or spend time on my home laptop writing on a blog or working on my book ideas.  So I don't write; don't record things that happen to be on my mind or happen to me that bug me enough to make me want to write it down to try to make some sense of it.

It's the same excuse I give for not having made any major headway on that book I've been threatening to write since I graduated college. After being at a computer for eight hours at work, I don't want to do the same thing at home. It's a vicious cycle of reality, excuses and procrastination.

But I'm not getting any younger. I turned 50 this summer, and I realize I need to do more with my life, with my time than just work and if I'm ever going to accomplish my ultimate dream of being a published author, I need to write, often and regularly.

I also need to read more. I love to read. I just don't do it the way I used to or in my mind think I do, or should be doing, if that makes any sense. I'm on GoodReads and I have a friend who is married, has three kids, two part-time jobs and is going to school for a master's degree and reads like, two books a week for pleasure; and reads serious stuff too -- history, politics, biographies. It makes me feel totally inferior, because I've always fancied myself to be a serious reader, more intellectual and well-read than most.  Not these days.

I have shelves of unread books -- books I was dying to read, and purchased either while surfing Amazon or visiting bookstores. Books I couldn't wait to go home and take out of the bag and start reading. Some I started and never went back to. Others I put aside for when I would have a larger clump of time to read them because I hate just reading one or two chapters and then having to put it down.

I'm also a slow reader. I like to savor words and sentences and descriptions. Oftentimes, when I hit a particular phrase or description or a particular well-written passage while reading, I'll stop and re-read it -- one, two, even three more times. Or I'll stop and simply look out the window or at nothing in particular and think about what the author was trying to convey. So, yeah -- I do need large clumps of reading time because I like to savor and digest and remember.

I'm in a book club and when I shared that with my fellow members, they laughed, although one friend did say, "I can actually see you doing that."

Another friend said she is a fast reader, and when we've read lengthier books with lots of description, she has no recollection of it, because, she admits "I just skim through those parts. I mean, I only care about the main plot and storyline, I don't need to know what their house looked like or whatever."

That seems unimaginable to me. Why even read a book then? But, to each their own. And I can't criticize because she's reading a helluva lot more than I am right now.

So this weekend, as I was trying to organize some things around my apartment, my eyes fell on many of the books I wanted to read but still haven't gotten to. Some are loaned from friends, some I purchased, literally, YEARS ago, when they were on the best sellers' list. And then I thought about this long-neglected blog, and book(s) I want to write and even started to write -- I have 10 chapters of one -- but somehow never get around to keeping up with or continuing.

Part of the problem, is I've become addicted to TV.  I upgraded my cable service about a year ago from the basic package and so now have way more options. I also now get Netflix, and Amazon Fire TV. And I don't regret that. There is a lot of good TV out there now, shows that educate and make you think. Some really amazing shows. And thanks to Netflix I've become a documentary fan -- so I am learning stuff.  I'm just not doing the reading and writing I do love to do; once I set my mind to doing it.

I thought of just starting fresh and doing a whole new blog. But I figured hey, this one has some history, and there are some posts I really like a lot.  And when I logged back in, I found a draft of one I had started years ago, and never published. I don't even remember writing it, or having remembered my grandma's neighbor Veronica enough to have written a post about her, but in reading the draft, I remembered those two days I wrote about and it occurred to me that that is why I should be doing this.

I love to write, I love to read, and I love introspection and this is a great way to get all of those out. So here I am -- back in the saddle.

I'm not going to promise to write every day, or even to write a certain number of times, because I think that makes me feel like I have to do it and then it's like a job and I resent it and procrastinate and then stop.

Instead, I will vow to write when something I want to commit to permanent record or memory or send out to the Universe strikes me. Which is often; more often than I've written about here in teh past.

I also now have several of those long-ago purchased and borrowed books on my living room table, and am making a commitment to read every day, even if it is only a chapter or two. My goal is at least one book a week.

After setting them aside, I did pick one up and read 100 pages, and as I was engrossed in the story, I looked up from it for a moment and realized how much I was enjoying the process of reading. No TV, no music, just me and a cup of tea curled up on the couch on a dreary, cold and overcast day. It is a simple pleasure I had forgotten how much I enjoyed and which takes me out of my present and gives my imagination and cerebral side a much needed workout, instead of just feeding my work fatigue with spoon-fed info from TV.

I got the same feeling of pleasure after logging into this blog and reading some old posts, publishing that old draft, and putting into words -- concrete,published words -- a new post that will hopefully, this time around, be a true blog and a springboard for more creative writing and publications.