2001-03-04 - 23:59:06

Foolish Consistency

I know that I'm not fooling anyone.

This entry is dated March 4, but really it is March 18, exactly two weeks later. I have fallen that far behind.

What I have is a list of topics I'd like to write about, with dates next to them. I'm going through them sequentially when I have the time.

The trouble is that my writing style interferes with churning out entries. A lot of the work for the writing I do is done in my head, and it seems to work on its own schedule. For example, the 2/28 entry on the "owl woman" just sort of ground to a halt halfway through. I related the incident, and then I was stuck. Where am I going with this, I asked myself and I didn’t have an answer. So the entry sat there for several days, half finished. Of course, it didn’t help that I had a pile of other work to distract me from it.

Finally, it was Lily who got me moving again. I complained about not being able to finish the entry and she said: "Just say that you don’t want to turn out like that lady and be done with it."

She was right, of course. She didn’t find the owl woman the least bit funny. In fact she was embarrassed by her childlike, nonsensical questions. The only thing that she thought was funny was me, going "woot, woot, woot" at her various times during the day.

Ah, gallows humor.

Anyway, she concisely made the point that I'd been searching for. Ending entries has never been my strong suit anyway, or have you already figured that out?

So, am I being silly, laboring away at entries in the past like this, or am I doing myself a service by giving myself some distance from current events? I tell you, folks, I don't think I could have written about the events of this entry the day after it happened.

I simply think the best thing to do is soldier forward the best I can. The reason I keep plugging away here is to develop my writing style, to hone my particular voice. Sometimes I can feel that voice flowing through me like a mighty river, other times I feel as insubstantial as the smoke of a dying fire, blown this way and that by the wind. I feel like I'm not a voice, but an echo mindlessly repeating cliches I've heard somewhere before.

Well, this diary is an experiment and occasionally experiments blow up in your face.

Now that I've thoroughly depressed myself, I think I'll turn away from the computer. After all, behind me there is a very real Sunday afternoon going on, and it seems like a nice day outside. It would be a shame to miss it.