Maybe, as I saw in a post, it’s because it’s “that space between Christmas and New Year’s Eve where you don’t know what day it is,” but I don’t feel like writing today.
I’m not sure how many people understand what I mean when I say that. I don’t mean all writing, I mean this writing. Sure I feel like writing in a notebook with lazy cursive that no one else can read. Absolutely, I would want to be plopped into a little cabin in the woods somewhere with just books and firewood and told all I could do was right and don’t worry about laundry or cleaning things. Yes, I miss attending class for the note-taking, even just for the act of copying the words into my own handwriting, pressing pen to paper in a rhythmic way that makes my heartbeat slow somehow. I want to write like that today, a rhythm, a flow.
I don’t want to write here, with my fingers tap dancing away on a keyboard – the placement of the letters etched so far deep into my mind that I don’t have to look down at the keys anymore. I just think and my hands contort, stomping with practiced steps. When I write with a pen, it feels that my thoughts turn to ink, and it seeps through my fingers and into the pen and onto the paper. You know in Billy Elliot when they ask him what he feels when he dances? “Dunno. It sort of feels good… It’s sort of safe and that… But once I get going, I sort of forget everything. I sort of disappear.” That. That is what writing with a pen and paper feels like to me.
But I don’t feel like writing here today, though I told myself I would, so I’m here and I’m just going to keep typing because this is what everyday writing is. I’m not doing this project to create an incredible thing every day. I’m here to get it out there – get the kinks out. To publish with the raw sense of writing and posting. Could we call this the writer’s equivalent to the #nomakeup selfie? This is me writing without much editing (unless I have something that I’ve researched and spent time on). This is me getting words on the page everyday for an entire year, even if they are sucky words. It’s something instead of nothing. Words instead of silence. It’s a promise to keep.