Ever since I was a little kid, I read everything. I read novels, I read the newspaper, I read instructional materials, I read the labels of products laying around the house. When I was a teenager, I used to get frustrated with myself for losing so much time to reading, because it left me socially isolated. I had friends and a pretty busy social life, but I’d often neglect it in favour of staying home with books, which then led to my exclusion from the latest schemes and dramas among my peers. It sucked, to miss out on these important facets of high school life, and I blamed my own weirdness. Nevermind that the escape provided by books was precisely what allowed me to cope relatively well with the shittiness of being a teen in the first place: I hated what I saw as an unavoidable weakness. In anger, I scrawled a reminder in my journal: “READ SOME, WRITE MORE, LIVE MOST!”
Now I live most, and read some, but the writing just doesn’t happen all that much. I don’t make time for it. It’s simply not a priority. And really, I’m okay with that. I’m not disappointed with myself: I never had any great plan to be a writer, and though I’ve got a lot of ideas for books I’d like to put together, they’re all based on community interview projects so don’t require huge amounts of my own creative juices like a novel or poetry collection would. While I’d like to develop my skills and frequency as a writer in the long term, at the moment I’m very content with simply getting by on what little I manage to churn out. Which is to say, this often-neglected blog. Get it while you can.
[This is Day 2 of my participation in the Reverb 10 initiative… So far, so good… But I still haven’t filled out the form committing to it.]