Be it creating a new file on disk, or turning a blank page. The deliberate practice of it. Neurons firing from forehead to finger. Out of mind, into sight. I love writing.
The closest approximation is my youth on guitar. Not playing any specific song. I would catch my self drooling, completely lost in the fun of it. The endless combinations of strumming and fingering the fret board. Every once in a while, a serendipitous melody emerged.
That’s where I’m at, with the practice of writing. Staring out the window, strumming, salivation setting in. Knowing I enjoy the journey, without a destination, map, or landmark in mind.
Author’s intended meaning, is to be an author. About technology? Poetry? Philosophy? Hot sauces?
Sure.
I know I want to write. So here’s some practice.
Published: 2020-12-17