Vol IV: #55 What Is It?
Been a solid three weeks since my last post. And I’m not a fan of that fact. Best part is, I don’t have an excuse though I have contemplated the future of my blog. Aside from the short stories, I wondered what’s the purpose, the thing that keeps this train chugging. And the answers were elegant and simple.
For starters, this blog is a record of me, my thoughts and feelings, and my process. No way I shut it down. Not a chance. I will happily pay $20/month to keep it alive and would even if I lived in my car. And hopefully, in the distance, a child of mine will read what I’ve written, the good and the bad. And they will know me in ways I couldn’t explain or remember. An odd but meaningful gift.
Secondly, I’m too far down the road. It’s true. This website is the longest lasting piece of me on the internet and no other account (other than email accounts) has endured as long as Fearless Grit. Not Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, not even my YouTube account- which I used to watch videos like everyone else.
Lastly, and just as vital, I’ve put too much into this space to leave or shut it down. I wrote every stinking day for a year, and nearly every other day the second year. And this little slice of mine is where I began to write. Below was the first poem I wrote. The original is rough but fun. I still like it as much today as I did then. (This version is edited.)
A: Beginning
He stared at the blank canvas while the cursor blinked, patiently awaiting orders.
The captain drew a cool breath through his teeth and studied what lie ahead.
“It is easy to begin a thing, when my heart isn’t on the line,” he conceded to the cold empty room.
“It is easier to hide in the shadow of another, a bold one, willing to smash through the wind when it blows.
What if my words are dull, my sentences complicated, my stories colorless?”
The terror exposed, he readied his troops.
Carefully he placed each finger into formation on the keys. And faithfully he typed, A: Beginning.
So, what is it, this blog? At this point, it’s an old friend, my writing buddy. And I still don’t know what to do with it, and I don’t need to know. I’m gonna keep on keeping on. You know?
