This Racket Again

Writing is a tough-ass hobby.  And I'm pretty sure it's not something that people just say.  Like you'll catch a cold if you stand in the rain too long (not true, the reason we get sick when the weather's cold is because we spend more time indoors, close to other people).  Or, if you make that face it'll get stuck that way (this one goes without saying, but there is evidence to show that holding a particular expression a lot can make your face look like it all the time).  Or maybe the numerous things that people say about sitting too close to electronics (most of which aren't true).

But for reals, writing really is hard.  I mention this, not only because I've started writing again, but also because a friend of mine has been talking about starting a novel.  Finally, this last week, he did it.  After he wrote his first 400 words (a page and a quarter) he had this, of all things, to say: writing is hard.  Just like that.  It was great, at least for me, you know, I've been there.  The nice thing about writing is that it's more of a craft, I think.  The more you do it, the better you get at it.  Some may disagree with me and that's fine, I have a special, round file on the floor where they can lodge any complaints.

I don't usually consider myself artistic.  In fact, I usually run in terror at the thought of sketching or painting something.  I even have a hard time coordinating colors for an outfit.  But I can write.  Always been good with words, at least, better than with paints and such.  I think that's because there's more of a process to it.  You can't always follow the process perfectly, mind you, that's part of the process, knowing when to chuck it out.  Wait.  This is sounding kind of arty.

New declaration: writing is whatever you want it to be.