(This post was originally written on 750words.com. It has been edited.)
I was supposed to be writing this weekend, but I went and left my clipboard at home. I have my computer, of course, but I need what I’ve actually written. It’s funny that I don’t have updated writing to work on. I have Google Docs, but because of those days I was without internet, I started writing longhand again. Now everything’s out of sync. It’s hard enough keeping the stuff on the HD and the stuff in the cloud in sync. It’s nearly impossible to do the same with the stuff on the HD, the stuff in the cloud, and the stuff on paper. I wish paper updated like a computer. Wouldn’t that be awesome? When I get my iPhone, will it be easier to write or harder? I won’t be able to write in Docs, right? Is that right? I can’t remember. I know that there are lots of notes type apps, but how many of them sync to your computer in a usable way. Where do they go? Simplenote works with Notes, right?
What I really need to just a place to throw ideas. Like my tiny notebook. That’s first. That’s the priority. But I also need a place to write ideas. I need a bigger notebook where I can stretch out and get things done. That’s what my steno book should be for, but, again, I’ve left it at home. Why am doing this? Why can’t I settle my brain and write? Why does it have to be so hard? Am I making it harder than it needs to be? I wonder that a lot. I have a lot of ideas. I have ideas nearly every moment of the day. That’s what my brain does best. It generates. I’ve often wondered if I could start a blog that is just dumping story ideas constantly. Whatever keeps coming up, that’s what I work on. It would be interesting for me, but for anyone else. I don’t know. But, then, I think we’ve safely proven that I don’t know what’s interesting to anyone else. I have had blogs for years, I’ve been posting my writing online for years, my photos, and nothing’s gained traction. I feel like I just keep putting stuff out there into the ether.
It’s not finding a hold, an audience, a customer base. I think sometimes that it’s my own ambivalence about most other people that stops other people from finding me. Like, if I put a little more appreciation out into the world, a little more would come back at me. I’m trying. I’m trying to find places I want to comment and interact, but, God, there really aren’t that many. There are’t that many people making stuff on the internet that I love. Really. Most of the time I can’t stand the stuff that people put on their blogs. I skim hard.
I don’t want to skim through life. I want to go deep, not shallow. That’s why I love books and writing, I think. It’s about going deep into ideas. TV and film and even music is very shallow, surface. It’s more about satisfaction than exploring. That’s what words are for. There is a reason words are hard. Reading is harder than watching because it’s worth more. It gives you more, rewards you when you work for it. That’s the kind of art I want to make. I want it to mean something, not to everyone, but to the right people.
I want to make art that appeals to a niche. The niche that I belong to. And I want that niche to be a tiny group of people. But passionate people. People that live or die with what they love. I want to love hard. I don’t want to date. I don’t want to skim blogs. I don’t want to skip pages when I read. I want to love long and hard. I want it to mean something in the end. I want my life to have mean something. I want to leave knowing that I didn’t waste my time. That’s what books should be about. That’s what I want writing to be about, which is why I think about it so much. I spend a lot of time worrying that I’m not good enough.
I’m barely good enough to get to 800 words. I’m distracted and losing words, and having some trouble forming sentences, but I think today, I can be forgiven. Instead of writing in bed on a quiet morning before the day really starts, I’m writing in a crowded living room. Because that’s what life should be about, too.