I’ve been prolific lately

I hate to admit it, but I smoked cigarettes for thirteen years before finally quitting cold turkey about three and a half years ago.

I don’t half-ass things.

When I decide to do something, I go all in.

If I decide I want to quit smoking, I just do it. If I decide I want to write a book in a month, I just do it.

Twenty-three days ago, I decided I wanted to write a poem every day – not every day for a month, not every day for a year – just, every day.

I want to write a poem every day, because writer’s write, and I fancied myself a poet before anything else I ever aspired to be, so I’m here now, thirty fucking five, and doing it.

There’s a power in deciding to do something and following through with it.

I have lists of things to write every day:

  • 1,000 words
  • WordPress post
  • Medium article
  • poem a day

and as I am crossing these things off my list, I’m doing even more than I’m asking of myself, because I want to.

Because I love writing.

I’ve been prolific lately, and now all I want is to stay prolific, to keep creating at this pace until what I love becomes what I am becomes what I do.

You know what I mean?

 

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Words, These Days

neonbrand-570373-unsplash

Commit to loving yourself completely. It’s the most radical thing you will do in your lifetime.
—  Andrea Gibson

So here’s the story, for anyone who’s keeping track.

About a month ago I freaked out and thought to myself that I could never grow the guts and gumption to write under my own name on the internet. I’m just too scared of everything. It would never work.

I spent days creating an alias, a new website for the alias, social profiles, et cetera.

How embarrassing.

Want to know why?

Because as soon as I had posted a few things under that other name and gotten good feedback I was pissed that it wasn’t ME that was getting the good feedback.

So then I was like, fuck this, and decided that I am a strong, warrior writer woman and I will do and say what I want.

Except for maybe some things about my family while they’re still alive, I haven’t decided that yet.

For the last nineteen days (and counting) I have been posting a poem a day on Medium and it has been a wonderful exercise for me.

I have to come back here to participate in linkups like Yeah Write because their linkys hate Medium links.

I’ve also been participating in Camp NaNoWriMo and I’m caught up for the month.

I’ve been writing the shit of out of these words, all these words, thousands and thousands of them and I can’t stop – and I am so glad I picked the right place (the right person) to do it.

 

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

true story about dancing

I once enrolled in
ballroom dancing classes. That
did not last so long.

+++

True story.

Years ago, at an Arthur Murray dance studio, because I met a guy in a bar who was a teacher there and he offered me some free lessons.

I can’t for the life of me remember his name now, all these years later, but he was tall, blond, and gay. I think it was Casey.

I loved moving my body and spinning to music, tapping and twisting my way around the floor, and somehow convinced John to take classes with me.

I think we lasted two classes, and as much as he said (and I thought) he enjoyed it, he bowed out – gracefully, thankfully.

It cost a lot of money. It would have been a huge commitment.

He was never very good at commitment.