On Not Writing
I've been thinking more of writing lately. Or rather, not writing.
Since a rather prolific period from 2000-2004, I've written very little fiction. Ok, no fiction.
It doesn't bother me, much. I've replaced that particular hobby/vice with a healthier one, and an arguably more objective one. In writing, one man's trash is another man's treasure. In running, a five-minute mile is a five-minute mile. Rinse and repeat.
That being said, I'm currently reading Stephen King's new book, Duma Key, and while I'm no Stephen King, when I read a good story, it makes me want to write a good story. And - if you like Stephen King - Duma Key is very good. Like Bag of Bones good. And if you don't like Stephen King, you'll likely think it's typical Stephen King.
Recently, when we were cleaning out the basement, I stumbled across the anthology I was published in, alongside my certificate for the 2004 Central Pennsylvania Writing Award. I looked at these stories and they were almost like they were written by someone else, which I guess they kind of were.
This isn't one of those drama-clad "It's time to start writing!" posts. I hate those, much as I hate first-day-of-training-plan-posts and first-day-of-diet-posts. Fact is, runners run, writers write and dieters don't eat. They do these things, rather than talk about their intentions to do them.
But I am wondering if I could find the time to do both. And if I could, would I?
*Like many cool cartoons, the above came from Hugh.