Writing. It is one of those passions that I loved doing when I was younger. I do not know if it was the angst of teenagedom or the disaffected fantasies of a shy boy who was too spoiled for his own good, but I wrote. I wrote a lot. I loved to write. I want to write more now, but sometimes I feel that my passion for writing is stronger than my will to write.
When I was in high school, I wrote poems, diaries, journal logs, stories, prose. I did not like studying poets or poetry of the past, for some odd reason, but I loved to write. I write in my own style, I convinced myself. And, yes, now that I am older I can appreciate the greats, and I continue to search for them.
And throughout the years, I slowly stopped. No more writing. Why? Life? Work? Dance? My stories are somewhere in old binders and folders in a box in storage at my father’s house or in the garage or the nooks and wrinkles of my brain. I will find them.
Every so often, I get the itch to write again, especially when walking into a book store. Borders (now defunct), Barnes and Noble, and The Twig Book Shop all had that allure for me. I found myself buying empty journals every so often. My heart knew it wanted to get back to writing, but I would never dive back in.
Something got into me towards the end of 2013, so I decided to make “Write more” a resolution for 2014. Interestingly enough, that is the only resolution that has encompassed my attention fully this month of January.
The other night after leaving the library with a book by Jack Kerouac, I went to my father’s house to pick up a typewriter, then I drove home listening to jazz music on the radio. A book, a typewriter, and jazz. “What year was this?” I asked myself, but I was excited to get started.
Something has gotten to me, and now I want to watch movies about the Beat Generation, Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs, and of course Jack Kerouac. Are there any movies? I found a few documentaries, and there’s a recent film with James Franco called Howl. And I hear there is another one with Daniel Radcliffe called Kill Your Darlings.
Not sure what the appeal is with the Beat poets, but I should investigate.
Also, I was trying to figure out ways to get the creativity flowing again. Through a friend and a few blogs, I found that there are lots of sites dedicated to helping one develop as a writer.
These are some of the ones I find interesting:
750 Words (750words.com)
I joined this one in December, but I did not start writing until January 1. The premise is to write 750 words or more each day. I use it as a mental purge every morning and as a way to clear my mind from the previous night’s events, or my dreams, or personal thoughts that I have not mentioned anywhere. It is fun because you earn milestone badges and can see summaries of your writing style. [Free for the first 30 days, then $5/month membership]
November is National Novel Writing Month, and this site encourages you to write a 50,000-word novel.* You upload what you have written, but it does not save your work. It counts your words. I am not sure I am ready to write a novel, so I’m not sure I will join this one, but maybe next year. Maybe. [Free]
There are many more, such as one to write 500 words daily, but I have not looked into that one at all, yet.
I also have a lot of interest in my Mexican roots, so I plan on researching Mexican and other Latin American writers. I have read works by Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Federico García Lorca, but I need to go back to find more writers.
So join me on this writing venture, will you? Start a blog of your own. Leave a comment. Send me a message. Let’s talk. I do plan on publishing some of my works–and works in progress–on this blog, soon.
*Thank you, Amy, for pointing me to the NaNoWriMo site.