Six months. I looked it up. The last text before this early beginning of a text is from late January. Nothing in-between. I wrote. Just not here. Just not in the morning. I wrote at work. Emails and notes. I worked on a lengthy book chapter. Which I now have to shorten. That’s what the editor said. And also ten scripts. Scripts to guide my conversations with a colleague, so that people could – maybe – listen to the recordings without falling asleep or just clicking on something else at 73 seconds in.
That all is writing. I am sure. But not really writing practice. Not practicing. Focusing on the product and not the process. That does not give you any practice. This here is different. Just writing. I will save the half-baked product. I usually do. Keep it. But not for later. It just there. On the computer. It’s done. I practiced. I have a record of it. That’s it. Done. Very satisfying. Nothing else to do. Shawasana. Your body breaths itself. Nothing else to do. Your jaw muscles, your neck muscles, your finger muscles are relaxed. Nothing else to do. Your mind minds itself. Relaxed. Relaxing.
Six months. I looked it up. In Scrivener. Where I keep all texts. I had heard that’s what writers do. That’s the tool they use. When I started in my first writing group. There are templates in Scrivener. For novels. For film scripts. For poetry collections. I do none of these. I tried. I tried. … What do they say in the movie: Try not. Do or do not. There is no try. I just do. I practice. Slowly. And not so steadily. I was not steady for six months. Try not. Do or not do. Just doing. Now.
Obviously, you don’t need to be sorry, she said. I am not. I missed many good writing sessions. Opportunities to practice. Writing practice. Just doing. Just texts. That’s what I call the folder in Scrivener: Just texts. And that’s what they are: just texts. I am not sure whether they are just. Just to anyone. Just to anything. That’s for others to say. I can only hope. And practice. Practice writing. Just texts. Slowly. And steadily. Steadily is better. Typing. Slowly. With … how many fingers am I using? When I am mindful of that, am I using fewer or more? It’s three and a thumb. One on the left, two on the right, and the right thumb. Or is the thumb a finger? It is one of the five fingers on one hand, but it’s not called a finger. So, what is it? I have no idea, and this is getting too philosophical, and I am just practicing. Practicing writing. It feels good to do it. Do.
It's been a while that I posted; I have been posting regularly on PantaRhei. Mainly on GenAI and language education. It's been a while that I went to my writing group's weekly sessions. I went the other day. The prompt was – you guessed it – Obviously, you don't need to be sorry.
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