I am writing again. I can’t express how excited I am about this. These entries are not as regular as I would like, but that will change. Nor are they as in depth and discursive as I could wish, but there are limitations of the format to bear in mind there, and perhaps I should not dream too big just yet, since I am still getting my legs back under me, writing-wise, and I am so happy for that.
What do I want from myself as a writer? Do I want another round of The Floating Egg? Is that still a viable form for me to be working toward? Or is it time to really stretch this time, to look beyond what has worked in the past, and try something new, perhaps even bold? Yes, to both.
The Egg is part of me, a vital step in my journey as a creative writer, and I want to keep it floating as long as I can. Which is not to say I don’t feel free to evolve the hell out of it. In fact, I see this forum, as it takes shape, become integral, even central, to the renewed incarnation of my little journal. This is where the me, the writer, flings himself most directly at his perceived readership, always the lively kernel at the center of what made the Egg tick.
But it cannot stop here. I can no longer content myself with self-centered prattle and call it my favored form. I need to actually commit myself to producing work of length and (more importantly) of substance. I have projects in the (very) early stages of development, but they give me cause for hope, as does this blog. Small steps, and as I practice more and more, bigger and bigger steps will be practicable.
Next time, a look at some of my embryonic writing projects.