Here I go...
Jan. 9th, 2007 02:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wheelieterpFor the last year, I have been practicing my writing.... And by posting it here, I have been practicing my commitment to same.
I have never been able to tackle anything longer than a poem or blog entry. My writing bursts out in almost painful fits and starts and every time I have aspired to something longer, I have started it, then never gone back to it.
There are people in my life who encourage me to write. All of the time, I hear "When are you going to write a book?"
Well, I don't know about a book. That seems outrageously ambitious. I would like to be able to write one good, complete story.
I am hoping that if I post my progress here, it will inspire (Shame?) me into finishing it.
For my first attempt, I am going to stick to something I really know... I want to write a story about the process of finding one's kink... A sort of second coming out story... Not the most literary of topics, but who the hell cares?
I am slow at this. It will come a little at a time.. But I figure, if I can finish it this year, that will be a big step.
The few paragraphs that follow took me a long time.
We each of us, every one, have that one thing inside of us, that one beast that dwells just below the surface, itching for a perfect timing, that full moon of circumstances that can set it off; to give it its divine-sent permission to throw the fetters of self restraint to the proverbial wind.
That is the attraction: the giddy, loin tightening tingle that the beast has. Self restraint is thrown to the wind and no one can blame us. Inhibitions crumble like sand castles in the stalking tide, and who can possibly blame a tide for flowing? It just is. It is a force of nature and morality is ridiculous in its presence.
My full moon rose in the shining shape of a young man. Downy and hard and smelling of salt and sin, he rose innocently; as the tide has no knowledge of its own rising. Once unfettered, my beast snarled and lashed out, and painted my life in hues of reds and purples, in colors passionate and regal. Only once did my old ways, my morality of shame and guilt, rear its ugly, scolding head and cry out for the old currents of my life to flow again. My shame looked back once, and the all powerful presence of my beast smote it into a pillar of salt to be blown away by the wind of his shining and sweet submission.
I grew up the only child of parents who, for all their faults and bad decisions, nonetheless managed to lavish a love on me that was just the perfect combination of wild adoration and sensible direction. I wish I could blame my time spent in exceedingly successful mediocrity on a childhood fraught with strife and booze soaked nights of terror and tyranny. I often, probably unjustly, secretly wished for a more tumultuous upbringing; something to explain my absolute terror in the face of anything remotely resembling a courageous step to improve my life. I was miserable and bored and I had no explanation for it.
I have never been able to tackle anything longer than a poem or blog entry. My writing bursts out in almost painful fits and starts and every time I have aspired to something longer, I have started it, then never gone back to it.
There are people in my life who encourage me to write. All of the time, I hear "When are you going to write a book?"
Well, I don't know about a book. That seems outrageously ambitious. I would like to be able to write one good, complete story.
I am hoping that if I post my progress here, it will inspire (Shame?) me into finishing it.
For my first attempt, I am going to stick to something I really know... I want to write a story about the process of finding one's kink... A sort of second coming out story... Not the most literary of topics, but who the hell cares?
I am slow at this. It will come a little at a time.. But I figure, if I can finish it this year, that will be a big step.
The few paragraphs that follow took me a long time.
We each of us, every one, have that one thing inside of us, that one beast that dwells just below the surface, itching for a perfect timing, that full moon of circumstances that can set it off; to give it its divine-sent permission to throw the fetters of self restraint to the proverbial wind.
That is the attraction: the giddy, loin tightening tingle that the beast has. Self restraint is thrown to the wind and no one can blame us. Inhibitions crumble like sand castles in the stalking tide, and who can possibly blame a tide for flowing? It just is. It is a force of nature and morality is ridiculous in its presence.
My full moon rose in the shining shape of a young man. Downy and hard and smelling of salt and sin, he rose innocently; as the tide has no knowledge of its own rising. Once unfettered, my beast snarled and lashed out, and painted my life in hues of reds and purples, in colors passionate and regal. Only once did my old ways, my morality of shame and guilt, rear its ugly, scolding head and cry out for the old currents of my life to flow again. My shame looked back once, and the all powerful presence of my beast smote it into a pillar of salt to be blown away by the wind of his shining and sweet submission.
I grew up the only child of parents who, for all their faults and bad decisions, nonetheless managed to lavish a love on me that was just the perfect combination of wild adoration and sensible direction. I wish I could blame my time spent in exceedingly successful mediocrity on a childhood fraught with strife and booze soaked nights of terror and tyranny. I often, probably unjustly, secretly wished for a more tumultuous upbringing; something to explain my absolute terror in the face of anything remotely resembling a courageous step to improve my life. I was miserable and bored and I had no explanation for it.
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Date: 2007-01-09 06:02 pm (UTC)June?? June you say?? Woooppeeee!! I will be here!