Late nights have always been an artist’s guilty pleasure, as well as embarrassed secret. It’s difficult to keep up with the day and age’s pace and demands, and robbing yourself of sleep is no way to give yourself an advantage. And yet the night rewards you with quiet and a midnight solace, painted in dark colors so serene. I mind neither the full or new moon, I note the night colors of the clouds – it is a separate palette of turquoise, gray and deep sea blue.
What then is the purpose of the night to the creative mind? If it robs of sleep, it robs of valuable hours in the day. Less hours to rush, compete and otherwise thrive in a society where every moment counts. But even under such a threat, the late night dips into a creative tradition, where playwrights, poets, authors and other wordsmiths burn the candle wick and pen words through midnight. It’s not quite a séance, but it’s the closest commune with writers past that a passing amateur can receive.
Tomorrow, another possibility of snow.
Over the year I’ve occupied this blog space, I’ve reinvented twice and thrice contemplated how to best use it. Here I am again, caught in the same conundrum, and again I’ll use this space in the most convenient way that I can, in accordance to the current daily string in my life, and what surrounds me.
This blog will become a bit of a literary journal, I’m a writer and can best be described as both amateur and obsessed. I am afflicted with a terrible writer’s malady called perpetual word vomit – while traveling, talking, working or otherwise occupied, my mind will suddenly cough up an unstoppable slew of word vomit, with subjects that range from a sudden fictional narrative to social commentary. I’ve taken steps to control these word spews by carrying journals on my personal at all times, but I still find myself without enough venues to collect the splatter. Therefore, I’m charging this space with damage control: this blog will be yet another place to re-arrange the word splatter so that its contents make sense, and do not upset the mental stomachs of others. The upsets in particular that worry me with word vomits is the general making of sense, grammar and having a longterm goal in mind. At the very least, my tiniest long term goal is the goal of practice makes better, so practice, damn it, practice.
There you have it. My first word vomit of the year put to digital paper, which initially came to me as I walked my graduate campus and desperately lamented the lack of a pencil and pen while my brain silently vomited away. I’m certain that this disease is not particular to myself, so if at any moment someone crosses paths with this minuscule, unadvertised post on the web, and have also inexplicably thrown up a littany of words without permission or place to record, share. Let me see your word vomit, and I promise that I’ll share the best and worst of mine.