What I was going for in that last blog was a piece about writing. I got to thinking and garlic seemed like the perfect connection to the process of using words. It made perfect sense for two minutes. Then I started writing and I got into thinking about garlic–garlic chicken mostly–and I forgot what garlic had to do with writing.
I still can’t remember. So I wanted to say that, and this–about writing.
I don’t know a thing about it. When I was eighteen I did. But then I knew everything. Now…nada.
I know you must do it. Simply do it. I know you can’t think your way to it, you have to do it. Write.
I know I spent years rewriting. I don’t do that anymore. You might say I should return to that practice, but I’m telling you much of that rewriting was insecurity.
I’m still insecure. But I can’t fight that on the page. That comes later. In reviews, book sales, and Christmas parties where nobody likes me. It comes later when I start another story and think, “What am I doing?” But you know, that four word question has preceded all ultimately great acts in my life? It’s the truth!
I said it when I went to college, I said it when I kissed that one guy, I said it when I made a baby and didn’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no baby, I say it anytime I’m about to do public speaking, and I say it the whole time I write.
Doesn’t stop me. But I say it. I sincerely do.