I like to write. I really do.


I have these stories. In my head.

They’re not trapped, per se, just stuck, all trying to get out at once.

It’s fairly frustrating, knowing these stories, sharing bits and pieces in conversation and telepathy, but not committing them to paper. Or in this case, to posts.

When you’re swimming in ideas like I am, you tend to drown. Just as much as you can drown in work or booze or depression, I am drowning in creativity.

I want to talk about my life and my work, all the funny and sad and troubling parts that need expression. A first draft of my unabridged story.

Know my disgust at myself when I succumb to this, an essay about the writing process. I don’t like movies about writers writing, so why should you or I sit through a few hundred words on said topic?

And know my frustration that time has slipped away, time better spent creating rather than passing. Regret, however well intended, remains useless.

I feel fortunate that the adventures pile up, the tales of meeting strangers, getting through the day, figuring out situations, sharing thoughts on politics, history, art, science, culture and odds and ends. It’s not a menu of ideas so much as a Double Jeopardy! slate of categories.

Much hasn’t changed in the last six months. The struggle to find balance continues. I’d like time to write (for this site and for the other site), work, play, read, cook and think.

I have seen friends write books and blogs, raise pigs and give birth, lose spouses and gain strength. I’ve been busy traveling a little, working a lot, volunteering, building Web sites and teaching.

I will let the air out slowly, one story at a time, so as not to confuse myself or anyone within earshot. I will spend a little more time writing, a little less time doing something else.

• • •

Faith was looking forward to dog-sitting duty, her sister’s Dachshund Gus and a visitor, her cousin’s Chihuahua named Texas, staying for the weekend.

She wanted to train Texas (yes, bizarro name) to do tricks. I suggested a few.

Faith: I’m going to teach him to beg.

Wade: Don’t do that. He’ll be a drain on society. Teach him something useful, like fetch. He could fetch the Bible.

F: That might freak out my cousin.

W: Yes, but it could also save your cousin. You could also teach him to speak. In Spanish.

F: What would I teach him?

W: Teach him to pray in Spanish. Something like “dios mio.”

F: You want me to teach the dog to speak Spanish?

W: Yes, he could fetch the Bible, then read it to the unsaved masses. It’s even written in Scripture.

F: What is?

W: “And a little Chihuahua shall lead them …”

• • •

I have these stories. Eventually, they’ll out.

Brace yourself.


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