Revisiting Tired Themes that Just Won’t Go Away

I think—somewhere among the two thousand, three hundred and six posts I have made to this blog since I created it—seeds worthy of sprouting clamor for attention. Yes, I know; I go back and forth between thinking I will always be a would-be writer and feeling confidence I have the wherewithal to actually produce something worthy of reading. Today, this evening, my mind tends toward the latter. I do not claim to be an excellent writer, but I think I’m a good writer with the potential, with sufficient energy and effort, to become quite good. At least good enough to merit writing a book worth reading. Perhaps before writing that book, though, I really should follow through on the promises I’ve made to myself to assemble and publish a compilation; that’s still on my list of near-term objectives. But that effort does not preclude getting to work on a novel. I’ve agreed to join another critique group, this one for people who desire to write and publish long-form work, beginning in another couple of weeks. At each meeting, which will be held weekly, members may submit up to ten pages. Members read along in their copies as the writer reads his or her work aloud; it’s worth taking a stab. If nothing else, the energy devoted to creating those weekly ten pages will be energy redirected away from obsessing about the psychopathic criminal narcissist who occupies the White House. That stunningly self-absorbed deviant pig has given me (and probably hundreds of thousands of others) material that will serve me well in my writing. Who knew an orange-haired wanna-be tyrant would trigger the formation of creative-revenge factories in the minds of writers? Speaking of staying sane in the time of 45, a friend forwarded a link to this article today. I recommend it; I need to take its advice and counsel to heart.