world is wicked and wearisome. The time and the toil take their little ticks
off you. Bit by bit they can fade away a shadow into something paper thin.
I keep going.
and fearless but really just completely foolhearty, I keep going.
wade the deep waters as if I’m an Olympic swimmer.
give punches like I’m some kind of professional fighter.
this is the only fight I know in a profession I love.
don’t understand the technology anymore. I don’t know whose side to stand on in publishing battles. I see the sides of traditional verses Indie and
understand the whole eBook verses actual book thing.
all I know are the stories I want to tell.
want to sew and stitch till I somehow get them right. Right in the only way I
know how to get right. The weary, worrisome right.
want to battle this world and this time and tell some kind of truly original
plus but I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t given up. I haven’t stopped seeing.
still imagine that. Yes I do.
still believe that. Yes I do.
still am the only champion in this arena. And I yell out day after day to
day after day I ask the world “Are you not entertained?”
the world gives me a big, fat shrug. So I keep on.
to find it.
to tell it.
to figure it out.
many ways to tell a story. So many ways to reach people. So many opportunities.
So many of so many things.
I have to simply keep going.
really know and fewer even care. But that’s okay.
want to hear that sweet song singing to me at night. I want to try as hard as I
can before the lights go out.
half blind and half confused and half delirious. But I’m trying my hardest.
I’m trying a little harder than that.
live in an indifferent, individualistic time. Everybody knows everything.
I’m still searching the crowd to find and to figure it out.
I’m going to love and keep listening.
I’m going to keep going.
all I can stay.
tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next century.
the lights go out.
Labels: on writing, Perseverance, Ramblings