I had to stop working because it’s less than 12 hours until I have to be at work again. No good.
Neither was the text that I was editing.
Jenne and I talked on the trolley last night about how hard it is to find time to be independently creative around the hours we keep for work. I think I’ve realized that I can’t do this job and succeed in any ambitions to be a writer.
And when I decide to be depressed about work, that’s usually one of the things I let get me down.
In our senior seminar, Michael Byers said “There’s no writing but writing.”
Or something to that effect, which just means that it doesn’t matter how brilliant you are in your head if you never put your ideas to paper.
So I am now exploring the (potential) corollary that *all* writing is writing, including Tweets.
What literary ambitions can be realized in 140 characters or less? Remains to be seen.
As Melissa pointed out, Twitter is all about narcissism. Well, so is being a writer. You have to be more than a little self-absorbed to embark on a career that assumes *your* particular take on life—or the facts of your life itself—will sell books.
And for myself, I did the most writing at a time in my life when I was most fascinated by the details of my surroundings. In all honesty, I am hoping to find something valuable, though so far my tweets have crossed subjects from dirty underwear to cherry blossoms and I posted a picture of my breakfast.
It’s only day 2.
Whatever comes of it, I’m pretty stoked that I can now follow the former host of Reading Rainbow.