Monday, September 19, 2011

back in July

The summer was busy and full, and I'm only now getting the chance to go through my pictures.

These are from July 8th. From top: the Highwheeler Cafe in my hometown of Baddeck. A ticket stub from the Highwheeler. Food from a bar in Florence where I met up with some friends for a Happy Hour. Then the Lick-A-Treat (which is right next door to a fried chicken place called Lick-A-Chick, I kid you not) for ice cream, soft serve. For me, soft serve ice cream is one of those things you just have to have on a warm summer evening.

It's early - still only 7:30 am. Even though I have the day off, I got up with Adam when he went to work, and decided to spend a bit of time writing. Even though I know that I'm passionate about words, poems and images, and even though I've gotten the knack of saying "I'm a writer" to people I've just met without somehow justifying my use of the title, when it comes to actually writing, I'm as hard to pin down as a politician. "I can't take time to do that now, I've got to ___________________." Fill in the blank. Even doing the laundry is more important, so it seems, than practicing my craft.

I think it's because I feel that if I'm going to sit down and write, well, the outcome better be perfect - a complete little short story or poem must emerge in an hour. I'm "good at it", right? So why doesn't it come easily?

I need to see it more as a daily exercise. You don't run a marathon the week you start running.

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