...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Sat. Aug. 21, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #11 - My Apartment so far...

I sign on to today's "Morning Pages". A solace has arisen, and I will now sign off because I have no doubts that later today I will write and complete the 3 pages, a new found confidence, or maybe ambition? So for now, some ice coffee, some pets of my pet cat, Lil' Bobby Dylan, a couple Cat Power Songs -- "Lived in Bars" (Danced on Tables...), etc, and I will sign back on later today...

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...I failed. But at least I tried, momma. I just got back from walking up six flights then down six flights. I'm not into walking these stairs for a hobby, although I used to run them -- but now my exercise routine consists of flushing money down toilets at the luxury gym. What had happened was - I had planned on writing today's "Morning Pages" atop my apartment building's roof (not ruff). The door was locked with a no-trespassing sign, which I ignored, but failed to get through. So, again, I'm going to sign off, go to that gym, think about where to write afterwards, and then sign back on. Which reminds me of my wiseass being more fiscally responsible, saying, "Instead of joining those expensive gyms, you should say you went to the gym today, which could be true by you running to the gym, touching it and running back." Be back later...

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Scared to sign back on, scared to start writing again, a constant tug-of-war for writers, scared I won't be able to keep creating. I thought before that I hoped "this scared" won't outweigh me being scared to actually become a teacher instead of a writer. This goes with the idea that I'm going to graduate school to get a Masters in Education, and the closer I get to becoming a real teacher, I hope the more scared I become, forcing my hand to write.

With this writing thing, some day's it's being scared, others lack of ambition...others, what appears as lack of ambition, is really lack of knowing what to put that ambition into. I've concluded that I must go out of the apartment in order to write, too many distractions in that place, the TV stares at the back of my head, music's a good catalyst for writing, but for some reason not when I'm home, and the smell of my cat, Bob Dylan's liter box, well, I'll respect Bob, and not talk about his box, he doesn't appreciate people talking about his box...maybe it's similar to humans talking about other human's mommas, I'm not sure...Hence, I need to get out of the house. On the positive side, I did steal some time, in-between email/Facebook /what's on TV/ is my brother still sleeping? checks. And, well, the "Morning Pages" are almost completed and my confidence in my ability to create daily is improving, I think, at least at this moment.

At this moment, I am stealing more moments to write, as Ms. Cameron teaches writers must do. I'm writing at my girlfriend's apartment now. She's watching HBO's new series True Blood. From the moment vampires were mentioned in her show description, I decided, nope, not watching, time to finish the "Morning Pages" - at 8:30 PM, oh, well. There might be reasons other than its surrounding distractions that I couldn't seem to write in my apartment today, for I have written some of my best writing at the desk near the stove that my brother uses as an ashtray. Maybe, well, all day I've been nursing a hangover, possibly for obvious reason, drinking last night, the other, lack of sleeping again. Bed at 2 AM, up, rolling 'round at 6ish AM. Come to think of it, that combination (drinking, not sleeping) was a catalyst to such writings as Sunday Mo Jos and many-a-song I've written - mostly created in my apartment. My conviction in my apartment not being a great place for writing is dissipating. Again, I'm getting back to the theme - just do it, just write.

I also stole time to write on my way back from the fruit stand, 4 peaches, 4 apples, vanilla low-fat yogurt, and package of strawberries. "You are what you eat", you're not? I talked in previous "Morning Pages" about my walkings to and fro delis. This time it was a fruit stand. Yes, I'm human, deli/fruit shopping, living the daily grind. On these walks, other than reminding myself "I'm here", I often talk to myself, this time talking about last night, a meet-up with a best friend, his girlfriend and mine at Live Bait in Manhattan. It's a bar, it's got beer, and at the moment I have a conviction in not writing bar reviews. "If you're thirsty and walking by, stop in, give us a try". I wonder if they'd pay me for that slogan?...

Well, we talked over beers, what's new and all the cliche topics everyone runs through when first meeting up. The drinks sunk in and people loosened up. On the walk home from the fruit stand I thought about last night while also thinking about writing this. I broke out my cell phone, for once not to check the time, but to text myself, it makes me feel good, ok?. I typed -- revealing nothing except more unknowns, I guess referring to our questions to each other and our plans for life and its future. Who knows, yeah, who knows?