52 Weeks 500 words
This is how it began: Justine (not her real name) decided to write 500 words (or as near as), anything goes, per week for 52 weeks. She would then submit it for anonymous posting, via me, her friend. Perhaps a pattern will emerge from her words, but at this stage it’s more an experiment I have agreed to share in. I’ll attempt to draw conclusions at the end of this. Stay tuned if this resonates with you.
"Sometimes the urge to write is too strong to ignore, even when other duties have priority. Sometimes this happens when there is no real story roiling and rattling in one’s head. It is a mere wish for words. Thus this randomness now before you, weekly. I see it also as a place to unburden the conflicting and strange thoughts that swirl in my mind. Take note, it probably won’t make a whole lot of sense. It just is.
Right now I’m feeling abandoned by life as I sit alone in a small space with no means to go anywhere or do anything. I am aware this is just as much a state of mind as it is a state of circumstance. Still, it’s hard to remain positive and seek the good in what I have achieved to date when there is no one who hears or sees.
It’s cold here and that no doubt contributes to a feeling of gloom. I always say I prefer the cold, but recently it is too much.
Elaina has three blogs and it occurs to me they reflect three sides of her personality. One is all about inspiration and motivation. She share images and tale and quotes that she hopes will motivate others, but mostly she hope they will motivate me. Why does it not work? The other is a blog of images (mostly). Those strange images make one sit up and take note, or the beauty is from nature itself, which is often even more thought provoking. The blog is about catching the mind and attention of the beholder, but mostly it captures mine. The final blog is about her work, the stuff that makes a writer tick. Thus, if one is objective, there’s the inspirational, the visual and the writing. Is that why I read her blog posts and study her images, to find the sum of a personality, and thus hope to discover mine? Or are those three merely three of a host of facets? Can anyone be analysed via an online presence? Can anyone be analysed by what they read and what they search for?
I hear the birds outside and desire their freedom. I hear the sound of traffic and I want to scream. I do believe I am becoming antisocial, a recluse, and perhaps it is also this lack of involvement in modern living that creates a feeling of abandonment. Does that make sense? And even now it’s as if I stand outside of myself while writing this, an onlooker, a bystander, interesting, but what does any of it change? How does it actually matter in the grand scheme?
And then I realises the urge to write is strong and that is the real me. At this point it doesn’t matter what is written. What matters is that my fingers fly across the keyboard and for a while I feel a bit better. One day I may even publish something worth reading.
Point made, journal of the mind."