I have been trying to post this one for awhile now, but keep coming up short. This is, after all, post 500. I tried to be cavalier and post something just for the sake of it, like a picture or silly story, just to get myself past the milestone, but couldn't do it. The crabby editor in my brain kept telling me (through mouth-fulls of cotton candy and angst) that anything I attempted to write would be disappointing enough, and I shouldn't try to make it moreso by not trying at all.
But here I am anyway. It took me awhile, but I've realized that nothing really is worth 500. Either it's too big a post or it's not big enough - and that's pressure I just can't take. While my editor's down for a nap, I'm posting something. Anything. Without her input. This is my version of a risky life (condolences may be left in the comment section).
Just after I had penned the notes for what was going to be post 500, something wonderful happened. The context here is that this post was going to be introspective and dull, full of my typical self-fulfilled prophecies and turned-leaf-attempts. While I was mulling it all over, I felt called to look online through the estate sales in my area. I came across one such estate sale and nearly peed my pants. There it was: my pink typewriter. I had been daydreaming about owning such a thing for so long now I've gone 12 times through the 12-step process of grief at the fact that I don't have it. You can imagine my surprise to see it sitting there, unsold, mere blocks away from me. Prompt phone call, and a jump up from my desk; I own it.
It turns out, that pink was just the spark I needed. It makes me want to write so much that I've actually been writing. There is no barrier here; just the keys and me, no waiting for something to load or ensuring I've pressed save before my computer freezes. The writing is what it is and there's no editing. There's something very freeing about that.
|Typewriter Lesson #1: wash your hands after changing the ribbon.|