Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!
Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
This is the thing you do to still your mind. You put your fingers where you know your fingers go, and you just do your thing. Flow. Don’t worry about it until somehow you’re ahead of it and even you can’t explain how it works. Or why. But it does work. And it’s always there. In any kind of whether. That’s not a typo. Don’t do that. I’m trying to tell you what it means. It’s important … for you to have a place you can plug your brain into that just empties everything out. Sometimes, it twirls it up real nice or paints it out extra pretty. But it pretty much just gets it out. And it is the thing that stills your mind. Because, when you’re doing it, you barely have time to think about anything. You’re only thinking about like seven things. Tops.
Which is nothing for you.
Don’t try to tell me about fear of the blank page. Maybe that excuse works for you. Not me. The blank page is an invitation – freshly fallen snow waiting for boot prints. Let’s go make a snowman. Maybe that’s how you still your mind, and that’s just fine with me. Whatever gets you to where you need to be. As long as it doesn’t hurt me. I’ll hurt myself – type it out and put it on the shelf. Someday, people will wonder why the fuck I bothered. If I’m lucky. But this isn’t about me. It’s not about you. POV can be tricky – trying to force someone else’s foot into your old busted shoe.
This is the place you come to celebrate. It’s also the place you come to mourn, grieve, rant, explode – fuck that snow up any way you want. That’s the beauty of it. You want to build an ice castle? Fucking do it. You want to track bloody, muddy footprints through the snow? Do that, too. Folks will judge you, say you have a twisted imagination. Meanwhile they glue themselves to screens charting our nation’s disintegration.
We’re all just stumbling along. You might find it on that blank page. You might find it in a song. You might find it on a field or in a stream or a streaming movie, but it’s always been there. All along. You gotta look for it. That’s the tricky part. You put your ass in the seat, wherever or whatever that may mean – literal or metaphorical – you show up and you plug yourself into whatever brain-reset device you prefer. I gotta warn you, though, some resets are rougher than others. And when I say I gotta warn you, I might be saying that if I had a time machine, I’d go give the young, pissed-off me a little advice. But he wouldn’t have listened. So, why should you?
Such silly, human things we do.
It’s time to leave now. To unstill my mind. To let the hornets back into the hive. You? You do whatever feels right. Them? I’m not responsible for them. I hold myself accountable to this blank page which I have sullied with my pseudo-intellectual snow fort. You can come play with me if you want. But you better bring a lot of snowballs. And don’t tell me you couldn’t make them. Because anyone can make a snowball. It may suck, but you can do it.
If you try.
#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...