The Prisoner...

     I have a massive amount of respect and sympathy for tortured creative souls…
There was a time where I just didn’t get it; the grief that comes with being one of those people who is constantly looking to pull everything they see/say/do into something that is their outlet du jour at the next moment they will arrive to their medium to do so.  As I have been back writing for the last 16+ months with an all-new focus here, I see it more than ever.

     I look back to the last time I was actually motivated and I see it.  I finished my novel in 30 days, all 50k words of it.  Waking up at 5am to pound out an idea brewing.  Carrying a flash drive with me everywhere and writing without eating lunch.  Ignoring the whole-ass world around me, for better or worse.  I did it all.  Two of the four albums I listened to for that September/October month were Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue and Gil Scott-Heron’s Winter in America.  If ever there was a succinct definition of tortured creative souls, these two men – creative heroes of mine – are it.  I didn’t see it as it happened and it took me years in the twilight to see it, but I get it more now than ever.

     I can’t escape my thoughts.  I get that
The best I can hope to do is harness my thoughts and carry them with me to an healthier release than I had been prior able to.  I carry my thoughts around with me, save them until I am at a keyboard and I adapt them.  They become a True Story©.  They become my tweets.  They are random silliness.  The important thing, though, is that I am doing something with them.

     Back to the beginning, though…
I am at that point where I am becoming a tortured creative soul.  I feel this NEED to release what I am thinking to the atmosphere.  I do it mostly unfiltered, I don’t seek permission or even ask forgiveness.  I do what I do.
But I ENJOY it.  That is the most important part.  I don’t much give a shit if y’all laugh (but I know you do), so long as I do.  The value in my creative outlet is blowing steam off of the metaphorical pipe.  I could sit on my ideas and watch them die a slow death or I can throw them up and see what sticks.

     My life feels a ton better for my throwing them out.  I’m having fun.


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