Alright, so as of tomorrow it's been 3 months since I've written anything. As a writer an aspiring writer, this is annoying. The fact is, life has been crazy busy. Yet, I still find time to hang out with loved ones, eat and on the rare occasion, sleep. Life is very good, and I find myself almost overwhelmed by the idea of jumping into the whole blogging thing with any passion. As a storyteller, I find myself wanting to make a blog into a autobiography... Oh blasted BLOG, why must you sit there doing nothing while I imagine you put me under great pressure to write even though you really aren't doing anything. What good is sell awareness if it has no impact on action? I shouldn't care, I should just write...

I glance back, and this is the same needless rant I wrote 3 months ago... I shall call this a success. My new found character trait shall be know as consistency of grievance. In a months time I shall not remember I coined said phrase, as I rant about the frustrations of writing to an audience without providing context... Never mind the fact that no one even knows I have a blog. As such, I am feeling guilt towards an imaginary audience because of an imaginary expectation that I've thrust upon myself... Well, at least I have a good imagination.

Ever notice how much I use 3 periods in a row? I would struggle to describe why I do this... Just trust that it fits. Most people who read my writing and have met me comment that they feel as if they're talking to me when they read my writing. I have a distinct voice as a writer an aspiring writer and I hope it suites me, because it is simply my voice set to page or screen. Meh... I think it's because my writing shapes my speaking and my speaking shapes my writing. I write out loud and often speak with a notepad or visual aids.

My wife is calling, I shall pause...which is funny because as reader you have no sense of the passing of time as I write. This is the worst part - as most readers can read far faster than most writers can write... In fact, anything that can be written as fast as someone can read is probably not worth reading.

That's all for now, I gotta go grill some yummy foods!

Writing to write.

I promised myself I'd write, so I'm writing... This is hard. I think my greatest struggle is letting myself just write. I often feel a strange obligation to my reader when I write. Like everything needs a context and back story... This isn't in and of itself a bad thing... however the backlash of this "selfless perspective" has been a lack of writing. Even in a blog like this I find myself put off by the fact that a random reader would know so very little about me. They have no context for my words but are just thrown into them... My words are not strong enough, I fear, to stand alone. They need a context. The reader needs to know they come from a good guy - as if my character somehow influences the quality of my writing. Self indulgent writing so often feels like a waste of time. I actually feel guilty in a way for writing things that don't serve a clear purpose.

I don't think this is a good thing. I have the same problem with reading. As such, I seldom read fiction. This is despite the fact that I love fiction. I am a storyteller after all. A creative type who only recently learned his creativity counts.

See, creatively I draw a great deal of influence form those who've gone before me. This is especially true in my music, prose and comedy. I learned this when my father-in-law, an unsuspecting interpersonal genius, shared a series with me called "Everything is a Re-Mix"... At first the whole premise seemed too obvious to merit conversation, but as Kirby Furguson unpacked his thesis it became clear that my drawing on others works and reinventing my own interpretation within them is indeed creative. Currently the series is hosted here: http://everythingisaremix.info/watch-the-series/

I cannot recommend it enough.

Finally got the blog up!

OK, so I finally am going to do this blog thing... The truth is, I am far too busy to take on another project. The bitter truth is that if I don't do things like Blog and diet when I'm busy they aren't sustainable... So why blog? Why add to the insane amount of content generated daily online? I miss writing. I used to write frequently. In fact, I used to feel guilty and frustrated when I didn't write. Through my teen years and early twenties I penned hundreds of journal pages and dozens of songs as well as several scripts. Then, in my mid twenties I stopped. I can, and have, blamed a lot of different factors for this - including a grammar Nazi girlfriend who made me feel like I couldn't write - but in the end the only one who decides if I write or not is me. I want to own this fact and be more intentional about the every day life stuff... As I entered college, I started learning about the "academic voice." The words "I" and "you" were banned from my lexicon and clarity took a backseat to augmentative words (or more honestly-bloated words) over compensating for small ideas. I let go of my beloved hyphen, a symbol deeply prevalent in my writing. I watched my voice fade as the words of my freshman comp prof rang in my ears; "it's too late to teach you to write well, now we focus on damage control." Ironically, Zinsser's masterpiece "On Writing Well" would never factor into my academic writing.

Please don't misunderstand, I value education and am thankful for the opportunities I've had to expand my thinking and rack up tons of debt - but I've despised the loss of my voice... In the end, loosing my voice is my choice, and only I can prevent it. And so, I must write. I will not be happy in this life if I do not write. OK, that's a bit dramatic - I think it stems form a desire to believe I am a writer... It's often said of writing - "if you can be happy doing anything else, do it!" So I guess a part of me has to believe that in order to be a good writer I must be miserable if I don't write... That's kinda dumb. I have so many reasons to be happy. I have a savior who redeemed me, a family that loves me and friends I'd die for. And, I may not be a "real writer" but I do know that I ended that last sentence with a preposition and then started this one with a contraction. "You're welcome grammar Nazis!"

So perhaps, as I write - be it reflection, fiction, or otherwise - I will indulge in a self serving journey that yields no marketable good... If so - GREAT! Likewise, perhaps I write the next great novel - but all indications point to no... Heck, I'd be happy to write a book - and thrilled if anyone read it and didn't hate it entirely.

The Dream

reader:  Mr Wyatt, I read your novel
me:       Please, call me Matthew
reader:  OK, Matthew. I just wanted to say, of all the books I've read, yours was one of them.
me:        Thanks, that means a lot to me. Did anything stand out about it, or strike you in some way?
reader:   Yes, the entire novel struck me when a burglar broke into my home and tried to use it as a weapon against me.
me:        I'm sorry?
reader:  Thankfully, you didn't manage to squeeze out enough pages to make the book dangerous - so I was fine.
me:       Oh... well, that's good I suppose.
reader:  I guess, what I'm trying to say is - I'm truly thankful for the words you didn't write.
me:       My pleasure... any time you want me to not write something just let me know... Here's my card - I printed that!
reader:  Ahhh... no thanks.

life's work accomplished...