Writers tend to be a lot of things. I’m sure each one of us could give you long, organized lists of how we break those molds and are unique from one another. We’d each be right. In a sense. No one, including us, is 100% the same as the next person. We definitely have things in common. That’s where those stereotypes grow from.

Sure, writers are all wordy.

We tend to be grammar-correctors.

We usually are the romantic types.

We enjoy coffee and coffee shops.

We’re honest to the point it’s hard to get a date.

The biggest thing I think we have in common is, we’re flaky. We don’t keep up with things. We run when we shouldn’t. We avoid when it counts. We hide behind our pages. We miss deadlines. We know this, we try to change it, and we just can’t.

Maybe I’m speaking for you, maybe I’m not. Some writers can dive in. Some can force themselves to join life, on time, when they need to. I’m not one of those writers. I avoid things at all costs. I run from the ones I care about. I dodge life by moving halfway across the country. I can’t force words when they’re just not there.

I’ve been very flaky, with everything and everyone. My relationships with people weather, but moving actually has somehow strengthened a lot of them. Sometimes I learn so much more on the phone with my family and friends than I do hanging out with them. Also, I’m utilizing the postal service and going back to the basics with snail mail. Something about writing and receiving handwritten notes is so much more personal and heartfelt than a text message. It shouldn’t take physical distance to communicate with others, but I’m different.

Recently I hit what is dubbed the “quarter-life” age of 25. Twenty-fucking-five. Fuck, I’m old. Older. Older but wiser. The benefit of aging (trust me, there aren’t many) is getting to know yourself better. I wouldn’t have realized these same lessons at 20. Not even at 21, 22, or 23. Now I’m aware and able to be honest with myself. I have no problem putting my problems out there publicly because I realized if I want to change anything, I need to be proactive.

That’s kind of what this whole post is about, productivity. If you’re still reading this then expect more. More and more. I’m making a change to be a productive writer, instead of one of these old school beatniks that sits around at cafes writing their own words to themselves. I’m starting the only way I know how, by sharing. Sharing everything I’ve written throughout my life. Over the course of this year (I just made the payment for the annual hosting on this site, and dammit I’m getting my money’s worth) I’m going to post EVERYTHING. Everything I’ve written (not including working novels and short stories) throughout the course of my history as a human being, will be posted. There’s some rap songs (some recorded, that will be including streaming links of those songs), some poetry, some self-expressionism pieces, some essays, some random scribbling, short-stories, and tons of half-baked nonsense.

I’m gonna pre-set posts, to avoid this whole flaky thing. Read it if you want, read it if you don’t. I’m doing this for me, just allowing you all to ride along for the journey. Enjoy. Or don’t. You make up your mind.

Rays – Undated Spring 2013

Sun,
Killing my skin, tanning pigment in-between,
Blame it on my genes.
Sun,
Setting, now it’s colder.
Slide on jeans and jacket, shoulder to shoulder.
Sun,
Stabilizing mental health forever and for later,
That vitamin D savior.
Sun,
Guiding our movements,
Cause little do we know, in darkness we’re clueless.
Sun,
Now to watch it rise,
Time to go ahead and peel jeans from thighs.