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WHY
Thursday Mar. 19, 2015
I bump along exploring the trail this morning ritual takes me on.
Cannot imagine ending this. It frames my day, puts foundation under it, resonates with others. Not everyone. Not every day.
When will this daily column writing end? When I do. When readers stop reading.
At no moment have I pledged: from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, yet I seem wedded to it faithfully (thirteen years starts tomorrow). Never begun with expectation of it lasting, now without expectation it will end …
I love to write.
I write to love …
Strive to spill belly-twisting angsts, joy stories, worry stories – my amazement at extraordinariness when I see it, or wide-eyed dismay at stupidity (sometimes my own, sometimes others).
Writers write with an expectation there will be readers. Otherwise, why? The most closeted writer, toiling years on a book, dreams of publishers promoting their work, reviewers loving it and book stores re-ordering …
Like most writers, I fund groceries and gasoline doing other things. Writing is a very difficult field to make a living. Harder to make a good living. Nearly impossible to grow rich. It seems many prolific lasting writers lived, wrote and died impoverished. Pepys never profited. Cervantes didn’t. And since I’m stuck philosophically between Pepys and Don Quixote, I’ll keep writing until my brain or time or a greater passions overtake …
Last day, last column of winter, twelve years of daily writing, not a slave to it. Twelve years attempting mastery of self.
So, this journey continues.
Mark Kolke
P.S.: fun yesterday to read Louise Gallagher’s column. She is eight years- on writing her columns and, thanks to her, for thanking me …
column written/ published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: 2C/35F, a few clouds – a lovely mild ‘spring-ish’ day ahead; Gusta’s morsel finds are still frozen to ground (she doesn’t understand it is colder in the shade) – my mind not so much on the walk as on the very busy day ahead – an interview, a lunch, an interview, a dinner – all with great people, and some work of course … what a wonderful start to this day.
Reader feedback:
TWO MEN. I MEAN THREE
I often remember the early college days when I picketed and ranted and raved about those issues I cared deeply about. The injustice we inflicted on the Native American Indians; made all the more emphatic after finally being told that the family lineage included a key member of the Cherokee tribe. A war we were involved in that did not appear to interest us initially and took way too many of my friends as the fought an enemy they never knew existed and were not allowed the choice to become involved. As I grew older I still railed against the machine, so to speak, but not so actively involved in the rebellion. I am not sure I could pinpoint what changed. Since it occurred during my twenties I am sure my focus was more on my personal entertainment and pleasure than on the issues of the day. Has apathy set in? I would certainly hope not. GW, Bon Wier, Tx.
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