to tell the truth I don’t want to let go of the wrists of idleness

mary-oliver-2

Why don’t you get going?

I said this to myself once, twice, three times this week. Grab that computer. Pound out some fiction.

But that’s not writing. It’s not deadlines, ambition, check check check done. It’s a relationship, a lover, time spent reveling because nothing else seems worth the time of day in contrast.

Sometimes it’s finished stories. Sometimes, though, it’s not. Often, it’s just words and imaginings and grasping at truth and finding that it’s only possible to capture a glimpse of life.

“Why fiction?,” one of my literature profs asked me last week. “Why do you waste your time with fiction?” That’s a direct quote.

Because it’s art. Because it’s science. Because it’s trying to portray the human condition while telling an untruth. Because it’s indefinable, and I’ll never reach the end or exhaust of all of the words.

Because even though Ambition is tugging, I frankly don’t care to come in out of the rain.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s