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293,594 (Write Everyday)

I’ve taken to writing every day. It’s been less than a year and 293,594 is how many words I’ve written on alone. Statistically, this is already a little baffling, but it’s even more so considering I write outside of that- elsewhere online as well as privately (both electronically and manually).

Nearly 300,000 words- some of which are creative and many of which are contemplative. But whatever the type, the action of writing every day has undoubtedly been beneficial, and I’ve been learning more about myself.

While a statement such as that seems a little trite, it’s still the truth. By writing everyday, I can see how much I have locked away in my brain. I’ve written the gamut of my hopes, dreams, fears, and dull (sometimes droll) daily details, and through that, I’ve been able to sift through all the shit in my mind and get to the point and the heart of an issue, idea, or what-have-you.

When I continually commit the same complaints to “paper” it’s not long before I tire of it, and either start to take action to get through it or simply drop it. On the flip side, if I find a recurring theme, I’ll know I need to keep pursuing it until it manifests into something more tangible, or at least, more interesting. I’ve found a storyline that I am so desperately trying to understand, and I’ve also been able to continue with characters that I thought I’d lost forever.

It’s almost a Darwinian way to care for your creations and your concerns; you need to let them out so that you can see which ones are worthy of survival, which ones you can and cannot live without.

music, philobabble

Summer solstice: the longest day, the longest illumined.

Or: First day of summer. Summer sounds part two.

It’s serendipitously appropriate that I’ve let writer’s block defeat me until the topic of “summer sounds” found it’s way back to me. However, it would be a lie to say that music isn’t always on my mind– rhythms repeat regardless.

Death Cab for Cutie’s Codes and Keys and The Cinema have have been on constant repeat these past few weeks, and just yesterday I’ve started replaying and repeating Bright Eyes’ The People’s Key. Although it can be argued that, audibly, there is a shared [faint] electronic motif, the latter two especially, that lends itself to some optimism, it’s the theme of perception and realization that’s really affecting me– the revelations of the change in the frames and filters of experience.

While the idea of uncovering and documenting should have been more obvious from the get-go, I’m only making this connection now. Deduction not design.

I’ll keep the analyzed specifics a secret, because it’s all subjective, sometimes even short-lived anyway, I’ll just say that it’s these little aha! moments that I’m grateful for. It’s times like these that strengthen and reaffirm my love of music, as well as my certainty of its necessity. Our playlists function as the self-imposed soundtracks to our lives; just as they can intensify our experiences, they can also change our sentiments.

books, philobabble

The I’s Have It

Strangely, and in hindsight, serendipitously, it appears that most of the books I’ve been reading this year have been written in first person point of view. It’s a mixed bag of genres too: Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy, Miranda July’s No One Belongs Here More Than You, and I’m currently reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated (although this isn’t only in first person POV).

It’s “strange” in the way that I don’t really read first person POV. In fact, until this year, I would have said that I don’t even like reading first person POV. So yes, this is strange to me.

Writing online again, in this personal manner, is uncomfortable. I haven’t done this in years, and I’ve developed this fear that I’m wasting the time of whoever is reading this. I worry that it’s all mundane details and convoluted thoughts, and at the end of the day, I’m so afraid to just write.

Which is where this whole first person point of view issue falls in. Even though it’s fictional, it’s still getting into someone’s head, becoming acquainted with their thought processes– empathizing with them.

It’s shifting oneself into the skin of another, and understanding what it’s like to wear their burdens. In doing so, a contrast is created. A contrast that sharpens the lines and the divides, brightens up the wearer, the reader. Me.

In spending time reading their voices, I’m hearing my own more clearly. I’m learning to listen to myself more.

Although it’s unintended, it’s a fortunate accident– serendipity.

announcements, philobabble

Begins again. / Never ends.

Hello and welcome. I’ve created this little corner of the interwebs to be an exploration in aesthetics and work ethics. It’s not intended to be so much as a personal blog, but as it is compiled in my own crazy way, how impersonal could it be? More representations than admissions of self, I suppose?

I’m not sure what number this internet venture is of mine, as my first foray into online writing was almost a full decade ago– I honestly can’t believe I started a blogger account in July 2001! I was never consistent in writing over the years despite being elsewhere online.

In any case, I’m giving this a go again, and I think the unlinked aspects of these kinds of blogs, in comparison to networks like tumblr or twitter (both of which I love!) will quell the fear of clogging up the feeds of friends. Unless of course you, my lovely reader, choose to subscribe via your RSS reader of choice, then I guess it’s all the same and perception is everything.

So, I’m just gonna psyche myself up for a good time with this and get excited.

Love and laugh– that’s the only catch.