Thoughts On Day One

I'm going to go on record as saying that a good beer really can make or break the writing experience for me. I don't know how it works for you, but for me? Nothing beats having that bottle on the desk next to my monitor. I'm not sure if it's the ritual of it, or the fact that it's an image so deeply ingrained in the popular culture, or if I just really like beer, but it really helps.

No, really. When you get stuck on a scene, and you know you can nail it, if you can just get the words right, having that distraction really helps take my mind off the fact that, damn it, I'm stuck. Because realizing that you're stuck is the quickest way to get even more stuck... to get stucker... or whatever the fuck you call it.

If you're curious, tonight, I was drinking Drop Top Amber Ale. I'm told by people who know things about this sort of thing that this beer is brewed right here in Tucson. If it is, and you're in Tucson, you should look for some. If not, you have my condolences, as it's a very good beer.

I was at the supermarket today with my mom, doing some shopping as is the custom in such establishments. It's sort of become a ritual for us, to do our shopping together, because both of us absolutely hate shopping, me especially. So it's become equal parts act of necessity (everybody's gotta eat, after all) equal parts opportunity to spend some time together, since I find that it becomes all too easy to slip into my own little world if I don't work to remain connected to my family.

Anyway, the first time we did this little shopping trip together, I remember walking around in this, I don't know what you'd call it. This daze. This ennui. I didn't care about being there. I didn't have anything to say. I wasn't angry, wasn't sad, wasn't anything. My mom said she was worried about me, said I seemed like I was depressed. Said I should really go talk to a doctor, you know, just to get everything checked out. I can't say I disagree with her opinion, since I don't have anything against doctors even though I stubbornly refuse to visit them. Don't ask me why, I don't have a reason.

And yes, if you're wondering, this particular shopping trip took place before I'd rededicated myself to the personal goal of "Write Every Day."

So, tonight was our biweekly (wait, is biweekly every week, or twice a week? I can never remember) and while we're cruising the shelves, filling our respective carts, I asked my mom if I seemed better than the last time we were out. We'd talked a few times about how I'd been feeling, so she knows that I'd begun writing again. She said the change that writing has on my personality is amazing. I joked that I didn't know whether I should be grateful that I know how to manage my depression so effectively, or if I should be distressed that I depend on writing to maintain my mental health.

I still don't actually know which I should be.

If there's a point in this rambling little anecdote, it's that I like feeling this way. Even more than I like the feeling of writing, even more than I like seeing the story develop and the characters come to life, even more than I like the happy little fantasies about publishing and having people read my story, I like feeling good. I like feeling proud of myself, I like feeling positive. I like not being miserable.

I like being me. I like being the me that feels complete and fulfilled, the me that feels like he's doing what he should be doing with his life. That's a rare thing, I think, a comfortable assurance that some people may spend their entire lives looking for. I'm not saying that I've got it all figured out yet, or that this is the only thing I'm ever going to do, or the only thing that I was meant to do. I mean, for one thing, that makes it sound like I have a destiny, and I certainly don't believe in that.

And, Mom, I know that you read this from time to time, although it might be several days or weeks before you make it to this entry. When you do read it, I want you to remember what I told you tonight, about being my inspiration, not for my characters or for my story, but for inspiring me to make the commitment to Write Every Day. Like I told you before, you're the example I have for not stopping even though sometimes I really, really want to stop.

You're the one who keeps me from going back to Day One, and the posts in this blog are evidence of how much that means to me. And you know what? Even if I do falter, even if I do fail, even I do quit... you're also my inspiration for climbing back up and starting at Day One all over again.