What do inspiration, perspiration and desperation have to do with this weeks post? All are needed to ensure that I am not churning out content that can only be described as mindless twaddle. I have discovered that these common threads connect my thoughts and words to your interests.
Some read because they have, or someone they know has, Parkinson’s. They want a perspective of what it’s like to live with the disease. Others want something that will make them think, or something that will make them laugh, or both. A few stop in each week just to see how Ivy is doing — they are fascinated with the moods and antics of my faithful sidekick. But ultimately I sense what readers are looking for most is authenticity.
Inspiration
Inspiration is that illusive something that cannot be bought; it just seems to bubble up from within. It may be innate to the complex relationship between the Creator and the created, it may stem from the desire to fulfill an unmet need in the marketplace or the need to fill a void within ourselves. It is the catalyst that drives us to do what we do, almost without giving it a second thought. Inspiration speaks to the very heart of understanding our “why”.
What would possess someone to get up each morning just to write, but more importantly, why would anyone willingly stay up late to read what I write? This intersection of self-interests has been my catalyst to continue. I would like to think that all of my posts are great, unfortunately, some were not so great and others can only be described in a military term, MOAB —mother of all bombs.
There are weeks that my words resonate with the masses; other weeks it’s as if the masses are still in Mass. Sorry — Catholic humor — a throw-back to my days at ND.
Recently, I had the opportunity to meet some of those that I have connected with through this musing. They tell me that the stories I share and the words that I write have made a difference. In some unplanned, abstract way, we have been able to connect with them where they are with a message that they needed to hear.
All this time, I thought I was writing to stroke my ego before the world in which I live seeks to crush it.
Perspiration
It’s not hard to do the things that we love to do but it still takes work to hone a craft and do it well. In many ways, writing is no different. Each morning I just start typing and, like magic, words appear on the screen. Some thoughts are coherent, while others are not. Some witty, some sarcastic and others could be best described as the ramblings of a troubled soul with far too much unsupervised time on his hands.
Regardless if anyone reads, I still find enjoyment in honing the craft. Ironically, the perspiration that is generated from honing my craft is only metaphorical. Perspiration without perspiring is a paradox in itself. But I’m not complaining.
Desperation
To undertake an activity that attempts to answer your question “why” is only part of the issue; there has to be some sense of urgency to begin today, continue tomorrow and the next day, etc. There is nothing I find more demoralizing than looking at my list of projects started but not finished, of books that I purchased but did not finish, or of ideas that sparked an interest that I never really explored.
During the past few weeks and months, I have come to the realization that my stories not only matter to others, they matter to them today, where they are right now. What I see as merely an exercise in honing a craft, others see as something much bigger. They see it as a connection to someone who is, or has been, where they find themselves right now; entering the battle from which I have emerged.
Exiting the Aircraft
Whether or not people come, I will build it. Whether or not the masses arrive in mass, I will write. If the content is unworthy of distribution, tomorrow is a new day and with it comes the opportunity for redemption.
Thank you for giving me a reason to get up and share a thought with those you do not know, with a story that may lighten their load or brighten their day. Pretty cool isn’t it.
Thanks for reading, liking, and sharing,
You will have to forgive Ivy. She is sill looking up the definition of twaddle. She doesn’t think that it’s a real word. If it is, you can bet that she will try to use it in our next game of Scrabble.
Al Van Dyk and his faithful but wordy sidekick, Ivy the wonder pup.
Here you go Ivy: [twod-l], a noun – trivial, feeble, silly, or tedious talk or writing. Dictionary.com.