transitions

Two. Days. More.
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Like most other endings (and hence beginnings) of the last several years, this one feels like something that has reached its time. Or, as Edgar put it in King Lear (under much less propitious circumstances), 'ripeness is all'. i do honestly think that this particular period in my life -- trying to be noble by teaching in the state school system and trying to write on the side -- is over for the moment, and it's time to give the writing a proper chance again. 'Again', because i've (ostensibly) tried before. i think the failure from the last time was because i'd set aside the time for a big extended project without having any inkling of what i really wanted to say. Or rather, i had lots of ideas, in my head. But i've only ever been able to write from my heart. Those head-ideas -- they never work out. Which is a good thing to have learnt.
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This time, it seems i do have something to say. Something urgent, from the heart, something that comes from love. i guess the challenge is to maintain the discipline that will enable me to make good art. i still remember what OH said once: something about how being a writer -- trying to be a writer -- (but then Yoda says that there is no 'try': "DO. Or do not. There is no try.") -- will test you to your limit, take all the strength you can muster. i'm not sure what i thought of that at the time: if i remember correctly, i kinda understood where he was coming from, but i'd never experienced it for myself, so it all felt very abstract and theoretical. i think i have a better idea now what he was talking about.
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Funny, this need to memorialise this moment. Perhaps it's the writer's need for closure, for knowing where one thing ends and another begins. For making order out of the mess that is real life. Perhaps.
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All i know for sure is that i need to write a book, i finally have an idea that i think will work, and it's now or never, all or nothing.
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