February 1, 2012 by Dropped Ink
The act or idea of dying is one of those things that no person will escape as we all have been taught by the horrifically illustrated Final Destination series. We can’t control when the reaper rings your bell or how he will choose your exit. What we can control is the acts we engage in leading up to “the moment”: how we love, who we become, pursuing our passion. A clean conscious in the act of pursuing our dreams is as important as putting on clean underwear everyday. Writing for some of us comes as simply as breathing, the words just pour onto the page. For others it is as strategic as a game of chess, focused and developed character sketches accompanied by well spelled out story arcs cover walls and fill notebooks. Then there are those of us who quietly profess how we are writers, yet we always have an excuse or some elaborate event of procrastination that “prevents” us from writing. I personally often say ” I’m busy trying to survive life”. In all fairness life can be as demanding as a hungry cranky two-year old. Now is that a viable excuse? No. Refusing to actively pursue something that brings great joy to your soul is equally as bad as wearing underwear with skid marks. If you were to die they offer up two clues you were indeed full of shit and you neglected to take time in finding small joy and victory. To my CSI/ Dr. G/ Autopsy flunkies, don’t go there with me just walk this road and respect my point. It is imperative that those of us who love writing have a gift for it or who simply enjoy seeing our thoughts on paper take time to nurture our craft. Make time. It’s as simple as that. Turn off the idiot box ( I love television but it’s a time stealer). Get a pen, pencil or crayon; college ruled, wide ruled, composition book and just do it. Put the ideas in your head on paper. Imperfect or perfect it doesn’t matter. So in the event that you leave this wonderful life your conscience is as clear as your underwear.