These past several weeks have been busy — the first episode for my new podcast, Random Waves, was released on my new website, I’ve taught classes in Quebec and Georgia, I’ve dated and broken up, and I’m working on the next episode of my podcast. I’ve also semi-announced that I’ll be going back to grad school in January for a certificate in Adult Learning. And now, as I write this, I’m about 14 hours away from flying out to Montana for Treasure Hunting 2: Electric Boogaloo.
I’ve been busy.
I hate flying. Part of it is the anxiety I feel when we take off and land, which is funny considering that I’ve been in the aerospace industry for seventeen years (or, perhaps it is terrifying because of the same…). But there is also the boredom of sitting in one seat for hours at a time. For the first hour or so, I’ll read and maybe listen to my iPod. But eventually, I’ll just sit and stare off into space. That may be why I enjoy sitting in the aisle seat. There’s more space to look off into.
But at least for that first hour, I need something to read off my Kindle. I have several books at home that I haven’t read through yet, but the majority of them are non-fiction, and I think I need fiction in my life. While browsing through he Barnes & Noble, 2015 National Book Award winners list on the phone screen, I’m wondering whether my love of non-fiction has colored my style of writing. Eh, I’m sure of it. We are what we eat, right?
My previous blog posts have featured a lot of self doubt concerning my storytelling ability. Is my voice wrong? Is my story arc wrong? Are my clothes wrong? Is my writing regimen wrong? Is my discipline wrong? It seems like I’m again blaming some external factor for my lack of ability, but I like the idea of being exposed to better writing. To better language.
Heck, what harm can it even do?
Well, it will delay me from finishing up my books on hip hop…