A side of Elephant with that Bowl of Ramen?

With the soccer season quickly approaching, "free" Saturdays are about to disappear. So with that reality looming, yesterday was going to be the day to get things done around the Ponderosa. Well, when a wrong number called - TWICE - after midnight the previous night, six o'clock rolled around pretty early. Too early.

Then there were the brakes on the car that needed attention. (You know the old saying, the squeaky brakes get the grease ... or something like that.) There went the morning. Then an opportunity to obtain some free firewood that ultimately turned into an opportunity to brighten someone's day extended a seemingly mundane task into an afternoon adventure.

Still summer days offer much more daylight and yard work was finally incorporated into the schedule (after a trip to the DIY toystore.) A late start meant working until it was too dark to see the curb I was edging by hand. And yes, my muscles are complaining bitterly today.

And so, my effort to get back into the writing mode ... it's like eating an elephant... one story, one anecdote, one observation, one object lesson, one rant, at a time. So after a quick dinner, the writing begins again.

So much for a writing career

Hey there blogosphere... long time, no see.

Sadly, as of late, my writing contributions have been limited to 140 characters. Or a random comment or "like" on Facebook. It is really hard to imagine that I was once a prolific writer. And paid to do it as well. That was over 30 years ago. Yep, it's been a minute.

A journal sits collecting dust on my bookshelf. It contains the angst, the guilt, the desires of a misguided young adulthood. Perhaps that is why the writing muscle lost its flex. The writing for venting's sake seemed like a pretty shallow purpose. Beyond that self-centered focus ("Oh, wo is me!") writing did not amount to anything other than a necessary task related to school or work.

Not only that, the pangs of self doubt nag with the idea that there are so many others out there who are much more accomplished in this endeavor. Sure, I'm clever ... but someone else is clever-er. Sure, I'm literate ... but someone else has a much better knack for words. And I don't feel even mildly interesting as far as what I might opine or information that I might share.

So will it take a sense of duty, an obligation, to finally get off the stick and WRITE? Can I write just for the fun of it? To express those deep-seated insights screaming to see the light of day? To share emotion, knowledge, hopes and even fears?

Or will this end up being my ONE blog post of 2011?

Maybe this will help.