Due to the having my phone die, I have been using a android emulator to run my apps. So my writing app went from being convenient to being a true pain in the backside. So last night I decided to transfer a few of my Work in progress to the computer as text files to make writing easier. Especially since the Emulator seems to really dislike my notebooks app. It crashes way too often. Well today I was transferring Elizabeth. (I still need to come up with a better name for that one). I checked the word count when i finished pasting it to my office document. It was only 1298. I decided to do a bit more on it. When I set goals for my daily writing, it is usually only 250 words. Well after about an hour of writing, I decided to take a break and do some dishes. So i checked my word count. 2198. I am so happy with that. Yes i realize that is not a huge difference. still it felt like a huge jump to me. So I was telling another writer friend about it.
That conversation led to a discussion about when writing is more difficult. Also about writing poetry and the emotion that goes with. I mentioned that for me winter is easier to write because i am not able to get out and about. And sadness helps the poetry flow. she commented that she had maybe written four poems…ever. I have lost more poems than I have published. I had a book once with around a hundred poems i had written. The chick i was living with at the time stole it, and my son’s baby book. To be honest the poems in the four volumes i have published were only written in the last five years. I have been writing poetry since I was nine years old. Somehow the papers I have written them on have found themselves lost. So even though I have not been published until fairly recent…I have been writing my whole life. I have won some poetry contests, been published in my high school literary magazine, and a few other compilations. I’ve never won any money, and so I never felt like I had met my dreams.
Now i have made money on my writing…( a total of $0.35 lol) I find myself wondering if I really didn’t understand my dreams then. As I have aged, I keep finding that my youthful dreams were ignorant and slightly blind.