i was thinking about one of my favorite movies on the way in to work today: throw momma from the train. there’s so many interesting little subplots and things to think about in it. and one thing that i think about often is owen, and how he wants so desperately to be a writer. so he takes a creative writing class, and one of the things that the teacher says to his class is: “a writer writes… always.” and different things i’ve read about becoming a writer say the same thing. if you want to be a writer, write. write often, about anything. that makes me think of 2 things: 1) practise. i guess that writing is like anything else, you need a lot of practise at it to be good. this kind of kills my romantic views about people who pour out a novel or poem from the heart, and replaces it with someone who sketches out an outline and then revises it over the course of days, weeks or months, crafting it into a moving piece of literature. i wonder about some of my own favorite poets and authors, like ginsberg and frost, and wonder if they worked like that? it almost seems to tarnish the emotion that their work evokes in me. another piece of my innocence lost i guess (that should be the topic of another one of my entries.) now on to #2: does a writer write constantly because they’re driven to? or do they force themselves to do it? my friend titus is a painter, i’ve talked to him, and he says that sometimes he just has to paint or sketch, just *has* to, like he’s driven to do it. he has to carry a sketchbook around in case he gets struck by something that he needs to get down. are ‘real’ writers like that? (i guess i don’t even know what i mean by ‘real’ writers – are they people who are extremely gifted? or people who are, for a lack of a better term, good wordsmiths?) are people driven to document, report, create, and write for some reason? or is it just a desire to share with others? does it act as a catharsis for your brain, heart or soul? sometimes i feel like i have these urges to write or draw, or create, or make music, and can’t find the right form, melody, or words to express the idea or feeling, and too often i’m just left with a feeling of frustration that i can’t get it out of me. like now. i re-read what i’ve just written and it’s ok, but doesn’t really say what i’m feeling. i guess i’ll just have to try again.. and again.. and hope that eventually i’ll get it right.

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