Journaling
The last several days have been gorgeous. Tomorrow (Thursday) two local writers will perform a reading at Starbucks here in Hobbs. It’s nice to see an attempt to stir up interest in the Arts: painting, performance, music, poetry, etc. We hope for a good turnout.
Working on my yard. The repetition of simple maintenance routines can be soothing. Zen.
Surprised a couple of friends this morning with a visit. Always nice to see their smiling faces. Maybe even thinking I helped initiate those smiles.
Life emerges from decay……
Tonight, something makes me recall Hugh Prather, a New Mexico writer (he adopted us for awhile anyway)—for some reason. All we have left now are his thoughts expressed in numerous tomes that may hit home for some if one seeks them out—since he has moved on to another plane. He took time out to explore being a “writer” but while working on fiction found that his most profound thoughts seemed to lie in the journal he kept. They eventually became his first published book: Notes to Myself. This work made an impression on me as a young college student and his books still occupy my shelf today. Aphorisms of life, love, and humanity.
I believe writers should journal if nothing else. Something about placing ink on paper, or nowadays, keeping that pulsing diagonal line moving forward on the monitor screen, may aid one in “making sense of things?” for oneself and maybe even striking a chord in someone else. Helping them to realize, “Hey, I’m not the sole one to think or speculate on that.”
I am thrilled recently to have introduced a friend to All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. Something so fulfilling about sharing one’s respect for a great work of art. Hearing that they enjoyed something that you found so enjoyable. That held your interest and drew you in through its diction and syntax to another world and another’s perspective, if only for a brief time.
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