I spend so much time doing it, there’s got to be a reason for it

I didn’t want this online writing to turn into so much navel gazing, but it turns out that is where I am right now. I think about writing all the time. I’ve considered, very seriously, giving it up for good, and satisfy myself with little notes in my books and trying to raise the bar when it comes to well-written inter-office email.
Then I have days like today. I wrote. Actual fiction work. About two hundred words or so. It felt good.
I think it’s Hemingway’s fault. I’ve read ‘A Moveable Feast’ and a selection of his short stories (“The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” and “Hills Like White Elephants” are still my favourites) and I ended up buying a new copy of “The Sun Also Rises”.
My writing today was all long hand with a new pen. I think I will retire my Fisher Space Pen for a while and take up a rollerball. I enjoy the feel of the ink.
I wanted to write more when I got home but I didn’t want to write about my story. I just wanted to write. I didn’t have any idea of what to write. So I went to my archives of old journals. I have alot of them. I cracked one binder of journals hand written on line sheets of three hole punched paper. It looked like I wrote them with a roller ball pen, too, but the handwriting was all scrunched and hard to read. I compared it to my current handwriting. I didn’t believe they were written by me. I didn’t even remember eighty percent of the things that happened to me.
Some of the entries start with a date and the name of the class I was in. Then it stops there and the writing begins. Other entries start right in the middle of something, because I’ve only got a few minutes to write. Other entries go on and on and on. Some are stories. None of them are good. I can’t re-read them because it’s embarrassing.
I have 10 half-inch binders, jammed with hand written notes. I have 10 two-inch binders, jammed with notes. I have one, massive four-inch binder, full of notes. I have 2 stacks of unsorted paper, each one 18 inches high. I’ve got small duotangs, 2 stacks of them, also eighteen inches high. I counted 22 of those A19/A9 notebooks you can get from Stamples ; all of them crammed with writing. I have 16 Moleskin pocket notebooks, all of them full. I also have about 12GB of electronic data. I would have to vet that though ; I think it’s only 4 GB or maybe 5 GB of data – the rest of it might be research I’ve gathered for other stories I wanted to write.
I’ve spent what looks like 22 years trying to write something. It would be a shame to give up now.

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