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The April Effect

Sitting here, pouring through the literally hundreds of topics I could easily discuss this week, I began to ponder my own contributions to the writing world.

Am I another writer simply rehashing stories that pour into the internet every day? Should I start writing poorly constructed, badly worded click bait articles?

Should I start writing false stories that people believe without giving a second thought as to the source? If it's on the internet, it must be true.

What is the purpose of this blog, now almost eight years in the making?

It all started with a post on Kurt Rambis, moved onto a review of a performance of The Sunshine Boys from the fine people over at Boise Little Theater and later jumped into a series of posts exploring the various bars of Boise. Most had stories associated with that bar, some of the places have closed and I, like them, moved on. (To see some of the bar posts, those are housed in the year 2009 on the navigation sidebar.)

Over the years, I have written about sports, movies, television, politics, and even thrown in the occasional poem. Scattered yet focused. Seemingly a perfect description of any project I've written over the years.

There have been times I've gotten a little personal on this blog. Stuff that has been written on here has been stated as if I'm writing in a journal. Nothing I regret, of course, but perhaps stuff that should have been left off of this thing that is now called life.

I have promoted my fantasy novel, my plays and myself in general. I'm like a one-man marketing machine that never bothered to learn about marketing.

Over the past few weeks--now journeying into the personal realm--I have given consideration to setting down the pen for good. It might have looked like this, but with a pen. And at a desk.


Why do I mention this? I'm not really sure. I guess it's something I've been keeping to myself as of late, not really knowing how to put it into words. Pretty ironic, right? A writer not being able to find the words.

Channeling rejections, failures and false starts into a positive outlook can sometimes drain the soul. And for some reason, as of late, each one stung more than the next, sapping me of the strength to sit down and create. Everything remained a blank canvas of hope, an idle pen sitting only a few feet away.

I gave serious thought to no longer pursuing writing. I would settle into a future of going to work, coming home, watching television, and sleeping. No more spending hours on the internet looking for agents, theaters, and opportunities. No more working on projects that would never make it past the notepad or the computer screen.

No more writing. Ever.

I was worn out, dejected, and down right fatigued. I'd simply stare at my list of things I needed to do for the week and shake my head. I found myself tearing up at the slightest suggestion of sadness in songs I was listening to and shows I was watching.

I was done.

Then I did what I do best. I found the positives in what I'd accomplished, stuff that had been pushed form my mind. And I wrote. And wrote. And wrote some more.

In the end, writing is what I know. Whether it's simply a post on this blog, a private journal entry, a sports article, or a new play (or novel), writing is what I love and will continue to do until my hand is curled and will no longer hold a pen (or pencil). Even then, I will learn to write with my left hand and continue the pursuit.

Now that the pity party is over, it's time to strap in and get back on the ride. I write for me and, though there is a desire to see my writing out in the world, writing is what makes me happy. Does it change lives? Maybe, maybe not. Depending on the forum--stage, book, movie or blog post--I strive to tell a good story, to inform or to simply, in the end, put a smile on someone's face.

Life moves pretty fast. My soul feels 20. My body feels 30. My mind feels 60. Remember to breathe. Take a moment. Soak in the good and the bad, remembering that the former outweighs the latter. 

If you want to make art, make art. If you want to dance, dance. If you want to sing, sing. And if you want to write, write. I know I will. 

Peace.


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