I went through my computer’s archives today. I found lines from old short stories; I found openings to novels I had thought I would write—some, quite frightening; I found a paragraph I can’t live without ever seeing again; I found many dead and dying ideas. After all this, I didn’t write a new word, which is most disappointing, but seeing some things I cannot let go of—I don’t think I can ever let go—should give me a sense of purpose. Tomorrow will be a day of more than yesterday, and the following day more than that, and so on. I want it to be, anyway.
I was about to publish a longer, more detailed post, but I went back and deleted it. Nasty (?) comments from strangers confuse me, making this whole process less exhilarating, less fun. I think I’ve gotten much more open here, in a public forum, not always the best place for confessing your hopes (and fears) (and disappointments) and dreams. There is something to be said about keeping a private journal. You can say an honest thing and not be judged for it later, except by yourself. (Though, I’ve had my private journals ransacked, so even that isn’t necessarily true.) This must be why people blog about Britney Spears. Unless you feel truly bad for Britney Spears, which I do, so I suppose right now I am blogging about Britney Spears. See what happens when people insult me?