Holy mucky writing

On the writing front, interesting stuff is happening. As mentioned here previously, I experimented with keeping a journal to cover the winter season. My effort was voluminous but haphazard. Twice I took passages for critique at Writers' Circle. They found it entertaining. When I pushed for guidance, my friend Elysha suggested taking a more intentional approach.

So I'm doing it again: keeping a journal to cover the spring season. A lot of snow fell on my spring enthusiasm today, 25 or 30 cm I guess. This time I have chosen to address a particular question. Intention, focus.

The winter storm kept me home today. I spent a good chunk of the morning struggling through a Cosmic Variance blog essay, Does the universe need God? This relates directly to my chosen question. This afternoon I played computer games for longer than I liked, but my brain probably need some off time. The blizzard stopped after dinnertime so I had no good excuse to cancel my writing date with Sarah, walked up to the Red Brick Café, and ordered an Apple Jack (hot cider and whiskey). Then I pulled out my spring journal and wrote.

Not what I expected. Crazy stuff about coming out, and religion, and why I believe what I do. If I'm going to write anything credible about this, I have to tell the aching story of where it comes from. So here I find myself delving into the most painful chapters of my life, not getting absorbed in them, just an outline.

It's exactly where Natalie Goldberg would have writers cut, in Writing Down the Bones. I'm glad she and the Writer's Circle have pulled me back to writing by hand. Suddenly I feel in a groove: dirty, slightly dangerous, and rocky as a roller coaster.

Meanwhile I have started doing morning pages. It feels as powerful as starting up an electric generator. With so much other writing going on, I have given up 100 Words mid-month.