The First 1002 Words
The blank page is an intimidating beast.
It’s the fear of every writer or creator. For the musician, it’s the click of the metronome, waiting for some notes to break the silence. But I’ve been making music and recording for a long, long time now. That red recording light lost its power over me a few millennia ago.
This is my first attempt at some creative writing in quite a while. Plus, it’s the virgin document on my new Mac laptop, a tool I just “had to have” to make this writing thing more convenient, more organically spontaneous.
Yeah, I know…why don’t I use my other computer or devices? I do, for sure. Heck, there was a day when it was journals and scraps of paper, hoping not to lose them (or at least be able to read my less-than-legible scrawl). Insert the “I write like a wannabe doctor” joke here…
I’ve read the books and blogs and posts that declare the first and last rules of writing: you’re not a writer until you write. Write every day. Write what you know. Write what you DON’T know, because that’s scarier (and more interesting).
They also say not to wait for inspiration but to set a schedule. I’ve grown to hate the writers who boast of getting up before the sun and doing the “sit butt in chair/write 1000 words before breakfast” writers. Oh, I know it’s probably the best way to get in the reps. Plus, I know from learning to play guitar that ya gotta do the 10K hours.
Up to now I’ve learned to listen for inspiration, to feel the soft whisper of the Muse before she smacks you in the head.
But the experts are correct; build up the chops so you’re ready to accept the whack between the eyes from your dear friend the Muse.
Hence this lovely Scrivener document (a ‘scene’ in the Short Story Template). So far, my ramble has only produced 330 words. Wait, 333 now…335…oh wait.
Since no one will ever read this, I can stop bullshitting and write something real. Those 330+ words above read like a junior high report that had a minimum word count, and you just type whatever crap to fill the page. These days you can get away with that, since no one reads anymore. I had a good friend say they saw one of my posts on social media and realized it was “one of those ‘long ones’” and kept scrolling. And this was from a guy I consider to be really smart.
I always thought that smart people were folks that read a lot. Shows you what little I know…
So what else do I believe that’s not true?
Geez…there’s bullshit and there’s real. This is where you discover that malodorous smell is coming from all the crap you lived through in the church.
If this was one of my long social media posts, I’d feel obligated to explain my belief system via capitalization. Yep, you read that right.
When I say ‘church,’ what I’m referring to is that very human earthly organization, filled with all those wonderfully imperfect people who just wanna love God and love people (but really want to love only the people that fit in their wee little conservative Evangelical structure).
Ergo, Church with a capital ‘C’ means the spiritual universal body Christ talked a lot about.
You have noticed something; my respect for all those “little c’s” is fairly non-existent. Not very ‘Big C’ of me, I know. There’s a part of me that understands there are some good people in churches all over.
But beyond all the shit I’ve gone through with churches and church people, discovering some of those good ones voted for and give a pass to the MAGA Maniac and his ilk is beyond belief.
A few years ago, my doctor (who is a great friend) diagnosed me as having high blood pressure. He prescribed some meds and gave me the advice to get in shape, etc.
When he was giving me the low down on my highness of pressure, he asked an odd question:“Would it be ‘soul-crushing’ (his phrase, not mine) to you if I put you on high blood pressure medication?”
I guess he thought my frozen in adolescence musician ego-brain would be offended by the need to take ‘old man’ drugs. Hell, I just wanted the headaches to go away. Write that scrip, Doc!
What has crushed my soul has been seeing people I loved and respected falling under the spell of Trump, a guy they wouldn’t let empty church garbage cans if he were a ‘normal’ person like me or you.
The really hurtful thing is realizing all these years I’ve pretended to go along with the right-wing Southern Baptist dogma. Even though I thought I held myself at arms length from the Pharisaical nature of the beast, mine was a faith discovered on my own and not within the confines of a building. Upon making that faith formal is where the trouble set in.
Not all of it was bad, of course. And the path of being a musician was certainly helped by the people I met in the church. Some of those very people I still love and work with to this day.
But the truth is I often wonder (and my wife Carol does as well) what life would have looked like if we could’ve escaped the crazy we endured in the church.
These days I’m finding more and more people who feel like we do. And surprisingly enough, there is still a kernel of faith in them. It’s ironic that the people we knew in church back in the day that swim in the deep end of the MAGA pool have basically written us off. I suppose in their minds we are the ones who have fallen away, or never truly believed in the first place.
Time and Eternity will tell the tale.
GV
