Excuses

Another return after another long absense from writing here at King St. Industries, the blog.  I can't really explain why I am so hot and cold, most often cold, when it comes to blogging.  It is my inability to remain wholly committed to anything in life that is not directly related to survival and takes a measure of personal sacrifice and effort and reaps limited, at best, rewards.  There is nothing in blogging for me, really, except the personal satifaction of putting thoughts into words and words into publication no matter how low a form of vanity press it may be.  But truly, my failings as a writer are not new or unique, I am plagued with excuses of my own design and I rely on them to keep me from realizing what little potential, at anything, I have.

It seems that excuses are the baneof my life, a blatant procrastination that seeks out mindless fulfillment as opposed the mental (or physical if I am avoiding exercise) exertion. But sitting here, at the computer, for 20 minutes a day to stream thoughts into type is not so big a sacrifice to make and I long to write here if for no other reason than to stay attuned to the practice of writing.  For a man who longs to realize his vocation as a writer/reader I have a painful aversion to making those things life practices and spend my time browsing craigslist or watching mountain bike videos on http://www.pinkbike.com/ in lieuof pursuing what I have passions for -- written word.

I hesitate to call this a human condition, there are so many writers who write daily and are affirmed (or not)in their calling to do so and they are productive and may or may not get paid for it but have the discipline and presence of mind and spirit to write on and on and make the sacrifices necessary to do so.  They wake up early, stay up late, are able to tune out the noise and demands of their children until they have fulfilled the daily writing goals laid out before them.  How I long for their discipline, writers who write daily and whether the writing of the day is shit or not it is still a days writing and there in they are serious and devoted writers. 

For my part I would rather read or watch a movie or wile my time in the presence of friends or the pretext of family, whom I love deeply, but also whom I use as a crutch to prop up excuses and procrastination.

I long to pursue a graduate degree in writing or English literature and go on to make my vocation my occupation, let the passions of my life determine the nature of my career but I am hindered by my inability to find a daily discipline and use the unavoidable demands of life -- parenting, husbanding, working -- as the penultimate excuse to avoid the pursuit of writing and reading and talking about writing and literature as my life's work.