Monday, March 5, 2018

Writing You Home

"It comes both out of you and through you," Don Henley said about writing, in an interview as he promoted his album "Inside Job." How incredibly true.

A writer isn't always in control of what zips through their mind. It seems thoughts swim constantly around the ozone layer; you reach up and blindly grab one of them, and they become your message. You don't truly understand where they originated, but suddenly, they make sense. When I'm driving a bus, thoughts come in waves. Occasionally, one of these knocks me down and forces me to take notice. Others seem to float away on the breeze, never to be recaptured.

Often, I have no idea what will happen when I sit at the desk to write. An idea will float by, a memory from when I drove a day, a week, even a month ago. Perhaps I'll add embellishment or a tweak. Often times, the tale just pours out as it occurred. Funny thing is, I can't remember a grocery list if it contains three or more items. But a story is unlike anything so concrete as what's needed at home. It has flexibility. As I write, tangents become visible within the mist. Parts not thought of previously fly into view and weave themselves into the grand scheme.

It's funny how a workday's overall feel can affect a blog post. If something pisses me off, my writing reflects it. If I've had a smooth ride, I'm a bit more waxy. These days, I'm pulled in several directions, so writing isn't a priority. Having to promote a book while managing work and family life gets a bit tricky. We're also trying to buy a home, which is stressful in the best conditions. This past week, I've been too tired and ornery to be creative. In fact, I'm battling sleep as I write this. Yet, the writer's muse pulls me into bloggery once again. I'm hopelessly hooked on words. Five years ago, I only thought about writing. Usually, I can't seem to survive without telling y'all what happened out there.

Tonight though, I'll pass on this week's past transit travels. It's the start of a new signup. Where I once lamented upon leaving one run for another, it's now simple routine. I neither look forward to, or relish the idea of, something new. It's just work, folks. I drive a bus. People get on and eventually get off, yet I'm still there. Until I set the brake on the assigned track at the yard, it's a blur from one day to the next.

This is my life. It's not compelling or thrilling on any typical day. Just drive, asshole. Okay, I will. And I do. Is there something more?

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