ANAPHORA w/ HIGH ENTROPY

I got a trial of Scrivener, the “writer’s Microsoft Word”. They don’t call it that, I just did so any non nerd ass writing nerd would know what it is. I tried the regular Microsoft Word and Google Docs too. I’ve purchased and left blank, one?,twenty?, Moleskines and planners and journal and various other legal pads and papers. The waste growing by the passing day, the words, never accumulating.

I’ve vowed and promised and made public my intent to write a book; probably a memoir, at this point even a reorganized collection of things I’ve already written would be a step towards something. Anything.

I’ve convinced myself that I could be a full time writer, that somehow, the $2436 per year I make in subscriptions could prop up this household. I hope Roanoke College takes words instead of dollars, but even if they would, I’d be behind on tuition.

I’ve tried to give myself grace and let what comes, come. I’ve also tried writing 500 or more words every single day. I’ve said I’d post Mondays and Fridays or Wednesdays and Saturdays or whatever the fuck, and these promises aren’t any different from the rest of them I vow to not break, then break the next day.

When it comes to procrastination or scattered work or promises I am sure to not keep, I am a professional. Like NFL level. I am the Tom Brady of ADHD, the Barry Bonds of lofty ideas.

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I, driven neither by unbridled curiosity nor a lust for education. I instead want to bludgeon you with irregardless, even though; no, precisely because, it is not a word. I will double space you at the end of every sentence and call you on the improper “your/you’re” usage, then improperly use it four minutes later.

Don’t worry though, I am harder on myself than anyone else could ever be, except when it comes to holding me accountable, then, well, you just don’t understand. I’ll try it your way, probably…maybe. I mean I won’t but I’ll listen to your way then tell you why I can’t do it your way, because, well, you just don’t understand how my addled mind works. It of the loose and errantly attached synapses. Of the so easily distracted I can lose you in the middle of a sentence. They talk of the lizard brain. It likes lounging in the sun. I have a squirrel brain. It runs out past an approaching car and makes it 4 inches from safety, only to turn around abruptly and run back underneath the front and back tires as the car rolls by.

//

I hit the reset button and just start writing, because it’s been my experience that writing begets writing. That two words are better than zero words and that doing something at the least makes me feel remotely better about this whole thing.

Remotely.

Irregardlessly sending out verbiage into the ether. Story to be determined. Rhyme not considered. Anaphora a specialty I never knew I had until I read the word yesterday.

Me, sure to disappoint.

Me, one day in to a streak that will end in one day.

Me, starting anew.

Because starting from scratch is (one of) my signature moves.

#hugsandhifives

(yes, I know hastags don’t work on Substack. Mind ya bidness)