Lately I find myself writing posts that are never published. The words make their way from my fingertips to the keyboard and then onto the screen, but no further. They appear as if by magic and disappear in the same fashion. I read them in silence and shake my head in disgust.
They are filled with tired phrases that are awkwardly connected to each other. If they were capable of dancing they'd step on your toes and leave your shins bruised. There is no magic, no spark, no energy and no imagination to them. They are plain. They are dull. They are useless.
I stop and stare at them and wonder why they are lifeless and limited. I see them and in my unhappiness I subject them to punishment inflicted by a big thumb on a delete button. Click, click, click and goodbye.
My best posts are not always elegant in their struture and execution. They don't always have the sort of eloquence that I would prefer them to have. But they have a certain something, an energy that people can relate to.
My best posts are often heartwrenching. I reach into the Jack files and dig out something painful and use that as inspiration. I take the things that hurt or shamed me and repurpose them. Sometimes I find remnants of the pain and I jump into those flames.
It is a useful tool, a resource that allows me to construct something better than without. It is not alway how I work.There are many posts that come from other places. Many that come from the Happy Jack home, but not always.
I suspect that if you were to record my facial expressions they would sometimes include a bright smile and twinkling eyes. But they most assuredly would sometimes include the opposite as well. Sometimes you'd see a tear roll down a cheek or a very sad look.
My best posts are raw. They are part of what keeps me going. Those posts provide the fuel for my blogging motor. Without them I suspect that I might have already quit.
Figure this as a placeholder for a letter to SQ.
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