As you may have noted, entries here are few and far between. The same goes for any writing of late (two years and counting). Intermittently, I ponder why this is, but have never really focused on it for a variety of reasons. Tonight, it surfaced from the back of my head like a marlin…. I’m enjoying life and not spending as much time thinking about it (because I’m busy living).
Also, I realize that most of my writing is a means of either explaining something to myself, reminding myself of something (a marker in the field, so to speak), or doing the ol’ core dump to get something out of my head so I can fill it with more enjoyable things. Succinctly, I write most when I am in change, turmoil, or unhappy.
Generally, I do not have the urge to write unless I have something to actually say. More and more of late, I find there is less and less that I feel needs saying; also, most of it is being said to my love, my friends, or my peers…. and it is decidedly not the manner of writing I would place here.
As far as creative activity goes… there is the occasional haiku (mostly at Tumblr), snippets now and again toward the erstwhile books I keep saying I’m going to finish, and the occasional urge to document something that impacts or resonates with me deeply.
Once upon a time, I would apologize to whomever is reading here; these days, I feel more that such a thing is silly. After all, I’m enjoying life and being happy.
I have to admit, I do not miss the dark, dreary urges that once drove the core dumps here; I don’t mind that there is less that I feel compelled to explain to myself and, frankly, all those books will be written when I bloody well feel like doing more than thinking about writing them. (And if that turns out to be “never”, I’m ok with it.)
So there you have it.