To Write

To write. As we head into one of the last straight a ways of our life, to write is about all I have left to provide for any future that begins to resemble the achievement of a dream. At least in a financial sense. The economy, this depression we’ve been in, along with good old fashioned bigotry has left us getting by, just.

To write. I am confident, if not in our economic future then, certainly in providing for our retirement; maybe. On the verge of putting out a slew of stories we’ll see if I can stand up to muster; get some professional editing and marketing, always expecting the best. Then again that cost money just to get it all moving.

“Money talks, …but it don’t sing and dance and it don’t walk”

To write, one of many tasks before me. The determination for this new month is to write something everyday, if only to transcribe my notebooks to Word.

To write. I have a house to restore, a garden to tend to, a life of faith with disciplines joyfully taken up, a small business to run, a profession I continuously attempt to re launch and the various ins and outs of life, such as eating, to maintain. Still if I can write everyday the depth of my existing, yet to be published, work shall begin to blossom forth.

To write. Getting it done. Setting the goals and accomplishing them is important. But there is something that all achievers, self help and motivational speakers profess as centrally crucial. That is the individuals you have around you; individuals that spur you on to greatness.

There lies the most daunting of works before me; to build a support community. Too many around me, and in my profession of architecture, perceive any success I may achieve as a threat, and too few are willing to stand up for me in the many struggles of my life. I always expect great things from myself, unfortunately I may be the only one.

The consideration I show others, the love of enemy and putting the well-being of others before my own, are hidden from view; outweighed by the short comings and the tragedies of my life, many of which I have just begun to unravel. Sometimes none of it makes sense. But I can always write.

And sometimes I like to draw.