Journal Entry 1


A lot has happened in the six months since I last wrote here. Six months of moving, relocating, readjusting.

And I love it. I went for a trail run today, disappearing into the quiet of Big Gulch, a local trail system. It was drizzling. With each footfall the road got rougher and muddier and my senses expanded dramatically: I heard the stream to my left as it tumbled and shooshed over its rocky bed, the wind in the pines, the birds’ furtive calls; I felt the cool air burn my lungs, the drizzle touch my face, my feet squish into the muddy track; and everywhere I saw a natural world that bordered and sometimes crossed into my dreams of an elemental existence. I felt like stripping off everything and running on all fours, fingers and toes gripping the leafy soil, a primal yell tearing from my throat. I think next time I’ll settle for running barefoot.

The kids are settling in wonderfully. They are for the most part oblivious to the cold. Although Kaia has said a few times, “I miss California, dad. It’s warmer down there.” She misses it for other reasons, too. We all do.

The day it snowed (read: dusted the ground), the kids were ecstatic. They ran out into the parking lot of the apartment (the only place the snow stuck) and scraped the snow into little round balls, packing them together with their useless woolen gloves, and hurling them at me with glee. Kaia, momentarily suspending her desire for warmth, dropped to the blacktop and made a perfect snow angel. Her first.

I feel compelled to write again in a big way. I want to write about myself, about others, about facts, about fiction, about worlds that are in my head begging to get out. I’ve been feeling this way for a while and a recent challenge from a former writing group partner has finally overcome the inertia. I am now rolling forward back into the writerly lifestyle, which, much to Denette’s chagrin, will certainly mean more time at coffeehouses and occasions when I must be alone.

It’s interesting: I’ve heard and read many other authors insist that being uncomfortable helps them write. It’s as though the creative process is driven by angst. I’m precisely the opposite. Angst and uncertainty might give me story material, but I write best when I feel safe and secure. Even if it’s about things that contain angst or uncertainty.

I have immensely more to write. I also have a morning workout schedule to keep. 5AM. I feel great once I’ve started.


5 thoughts on “Journal Entry 1

  1. mom

    I could feel the drizzle. I could hear the mud. I could smell the fog. Feeling is good. Writing is good. Writing it important. Writing what you feel is very important. If you have something to say, say it. And remember. You are not perfect. Nothing is perfect. Perfect is boring. You have plenty of time to be perfect when your are dead. Just get it written and out there before we all die. And don’t take yourself too seriously. Life is too damn short. Make it fun. Have fun with it. Find the fun. Trust me. If it ain’t fun, it ain’t worth it. xo

    • Samson

      Life is fun, writing is fun, being serious can be fun, too. But only in small doses. Too much will kill you.

      Perfect? What strange word is this?

  2. i write better when i’m uncomfortable. when i’m going through something that i don’t understand, when there are emotions to process. right now, though, i’m stuck.

    can’t wait to read you 🙂

    • mom

      Stuck is o.k. yo. you need stuck right now. if all you can write is ‘i’m stuck, i’m stuck, pretty soon you will not need it anymore. Go ahead. I dare you to just keep writing over and over again. i’m stuck. The ego will get bored with it and then it’s your heart’s desire turn to take over.

      My dogs eyes are turning yellow. I am off to the doggie park. xo

    • Samson

      I write better after I’ve had a chance to reflect on the uncomfortableness. When I’ve had a moment to process the emotions and to make them coherent. This kind of writing I’m talking about is writing for an audience. Some of my journal entries are incoherent, even to me.

      I always love reading you.

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