Oceans

So writing is like the sea. Each phrase, word or sentence rolls up from this deep and wide ocean and crashes against the rocky coast line of the page. Before the wave of words rolls back out to sea again a few structures manage to cling to the beach, and over time a masterwork is completed. Never mind those monkey's and their typewriters. They haven't a clue the effort that goes into these articles each day (except weekends and holidays).

I'm essentially a pirate, stealing what word booty I can and hoping that the next coast line is as hospitable as the last. I pray that the winds favor me and that I don't run afoul of the reefs or vampire mermaids. It's not easy to write these everyday you know. I spend a great deal of time fretting over what my loyal readers will digest in their brains. Do I give them a story about love lost, a guy riding the train, a woman and her missing sock, a time capsule filled with disease? I really have to think about it.

I wonder if Rod Serling felt this way as he cranked out Twilight Zone after Twilight Zone episode. I wonder if he looked out at the morning sun and thought, "Jeeze, what am I going to come up with next to feed these entertainment brain slugs? Ah, brain Slugs! Rod, you're a genius". Actually I bet it did go something like that.

I'm just venting my frustration at my own inadequacies regarding these daily pieces I produce. I like them. I think most of the stories are pretty decent. I get a little feedback from friends and that's nice and sincerely appreciated, but I don't get much critical review. I'm not sure how to get better. I'm still floundering on the beach, gasping for water in the deathly air.

I know I'm no Hemingway or Bukowski. I'm not even a Kerouac. (But I think every literate guy wishes he was). I know I'd love to be. I don't know, perhaps my stories are missing some gritty reality, some real spark of honesty. Although I think, as my own worst editor, that my stories are pretty realistic. Well, except for the the really crazy ones like that Nonsense Island story. I try to write pretty true to real life. I try to capture what people might be thinking at any given moment. I do this with the understanding that most people on the street are incredibly insane. Event the normals are completely nuts.

So I wade through the water as it splashes up on the beach and I use my word detector to mash something together that I hope someone will think is shiny and attractive. Maybe it'll help me get laid, maybe it'll just take up shelf space in the garage of my ramshackle beach hut, who knows. Arrrgggh.