I’m approaching the point where I’d rather write than read, and it feels good. It reminds of exercising, where it sucks at first but you keep at it and then you can’t imagine going without it even for a day.
I suppose this daily journal exercise has helped with that. My typing is faster, too. I just feel the desire to produce something. I can’t wait to duke it out on the web.
In fact, I’d say my whole attitude has gotten better over the past couple of months. I feel balanced and efficient and for the most part positive. I remember when I’d feel good and then plunge into the darkness node of depression for several days. Of course, I can’t totally write off that that won’t happen.
I wonder what this is all leading to. Writing represents the gateway to me — it’s what will set me free, I just know it. So what is this all leading to?
I remember when I used to think I wanted to be a novelist, then when I realized I didn’t have the discipline (and maybe even the talent) to be one, I rejected writing all together.
Then when i became an editor, I thought I was a failed writer! Why so serious? I’m pretty happy being an editor and now I’m working my way up to publisher. So what’s a publisher…a failed editor? Just kidding, I’ll always be an editor and definitely always be a writer (first).
Which gets back to consumption. I produce content and I filter/procure/curate it for other people. That makes me a farmer and a hunter, right? I grow my own content and stalk other content worthy of consumption.
This week I will write a thoughtful letter to Seth Godin. It will be my first stage call — approaching the issue of publishing from the top down. I need this.