It was a difference of opinion and experience that prompted me to write my first post here (spiders aren’t enemies), but it was a promise I made to myself that has kept me coming back. I committed to the ritual, sitting down with a blank page, tapping out words, pushing ideas into shape, giving vague memories form. Sometimes the words slice like a razor blade and lift a thin membrane to reveal the raw beauty of a moment or an observation. Time and place fade away in the rhythm of the words. Sometimes, the words hit with a thud, uninspired, mundane, or trite. I am immensely proud of some of the things I’ve written, others I’ve already forgotten completely. The point isn’t to write the most inspiring words everyday, but instead, to solidify the ritual, the commitment to write something, anything, and ship it each day. I’ve missed a day or two here and there, but in just over two months I’ve pushed out 63 stories, each time daring myself to put words to the page and ship. The point isn’t to attract readers, but to build the muscle to write, again and again.
What have I learned in 63 posts? That I have a unique writing voice and punctuation is part of my style. Favoring discipline above everything else can, but doesn’t necessarily have to, suppress quality. There are certain types of stories I am very comfortable writing, and others that I’m not ready to expose yet; I gravitate to a kind of writing that straddles memory and insights, but locks onto the emotions, amplifying. I know I am better when I take more time to edit, but I have to balance it with daily shipping and, here, hitting “publish” is the only metric that counts.