Cleaning out the freezer
It’s been a long time since my dreams of being a writer got moved to the back-burner, and eventually to the freezer. I’ve dredged them out a few times and found them a bit freezer burned. I admire people who can write lucidly, systematically, doggedly, daily, either ignoring the daily tasks around, or somehow able to accomplish both. I can’t. It takes time and time is a hot commodity when the house is full of children, there are a multiple odd tasks to be accomplished, and everyone wants a piece of you. That might sound like complaining; on one level it is, but I wouldn’t trade reality for past dreams.
My wife calls me a process person and she is right. She is almost always right. I enjoy the process of creation in everything much more than the finished product. If I don’t have the necessary time to accomplish the process then I will typically forgo the task, or put it off until I do have the time, hence my inability to be a productive writer. I became a baker about 18 years ago. Wait. I didn’t spin a cocoon and emerge with a dusty white apron. I began baking about 18 years ago. I was interested and I got several jobs out of it, some very fun and one that stank. That career path only lasted a few years before I realized that I was never going to be able to support a family, much less myself, unless I owned the bakery. I moved on to other things, but I still bake. I am good at it. My family enjoys the product, but for me the primary pleasure is the process. The process is therapy and allows me to stay sane and to leave the wider world for a smaller one of my own creation. To become as Tolkien would say, a ‘sub-creator.’ But I want to write too. Among many other things. I want to read like I did when I was younger. I want to give myself over to studying many different subjects of personal interest. I want to teach them to others. Most of the other interests and tasks have been in one form or another, substitutes for my oldest and primary desire to write. I have a few young friends who are prolific and talented, and I envy them the time they can spend with pen and paper or keyboard. That’s right, outright jealousy. But, that green eyed monster is not debilitating. In fact, I find it quite catalytic.
My wife calls me a process person and she is right. She is almost always right. I enjoy the process of creation in everything much more than the finished product. If I don’t have the necessary time to accomplish the process then I will typically forgo the task, or put it off until I do have the time, hence my inability to be a productive writer. I became a baker about 18 years ago. Wait. I didn’t spin a cocoon and emerge with a dusty white apron. I began baking about 18 years ago. I was interested and I got several jobs out of it, some very fun and one that stank. That career path only lasted a few years before I realized that I was never going to be able to support a family, much less myself, unless I owned the bakery. I moved on to other things, but I still bake. I am good at it. My family enjoys the product, but for me the primary pleasure is the process. The process is therapy and allows me to stay sane and to leave the wider world for a smaller one of my own creation. To become as Tolkien would say, a ‘sub-creator.’ But I want to write too. Among many other things. I want to read like I did when I was younger. I want to give myself over to studying many different subjects of personal interest. I want to teach them to others. Most of the other interests and tasks have been in one form or another, substitutes for my oldest and primary desire to write. I have a few young friends who are prolific and talented, and I envy them the time they can spend with pen and paper or keyboard. That’s right, outright jealousy. But, that green eyed monster is not debilitating. In fact, I find it quite catalytic.
posted by Bruce Ezzell | 8:09 PM
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