Wonderin' why the right words never come...

For those of us who dabble in writing, the words from that old Eagle's song often ring loud and true. I suppose the word never should be replaced by seldom in my case. As I sing the line to myself with that small change in wordage, it seems more appropriate. Even while being my own worse critic and editor, I feel some of these attempts at being a writer occasionally hit their intended mark...but only seldom.

For me, writing momentarily removes me from the often stark reality I perceive as my world. It allows me to step out of line, to get off the moving sidewalk, to pull over to the side of the road...if only for a few short minutes. From there, I can look back, or watch the world go by, or simply fantasize. I don't need to watch where I am going, or wonder if I'm doing the right thing, or even use my turn signals if I choose not to. There are no bosses, or people expecting things from me, or rules. Sure, there is criticism and scrutiny...two things I have struggled with personally and professionally all my life. But those two debilitating words don't really matter much anymore...they're just words from individuals who, for the most part, simply want to have their say. Isn't that what I am doing here?

Years ago, I used to write songs. Yep, I did! You can't play guitar for over forty years, covering other people's tunes, and not write a song or two yourself. Some of these compositions were snappy, upbeat, pop-like songs about life. While others were the usual sad songs professing feelings about lost loves or periods of time. Still others were jingles I wrote, played, and voiced for some unappreciative radio client. They were written words and chords...confessions set to music...snapshots of my life at that moment in time. And where are those musical manuscripts today? Most have long since decomposed in some land fill near the San Fernando Valley along with a billion other tons of trash, old refrigerators, and unwanted stuff . Others may be buried in some crypt-like storage area, hidden in an unlabeled box in the attic, amongst a thousand forgotten bits of papers and memorabilia. Maybe I will try to find them someday. Maybe they're best left lost in the archives of my life, to someday be found and gone through by my children...or grandchildren.

"Hey, Mom...look what I found in grandad's things! These look like songs he wrote", they will say, "Did you know about these?"

"He wrote about them once", Jen will answer, "But I never got to see them while he was still here. He didn't think they were good enough for other people to see...or hear".

"Did he write them before or after he wrote the book?"

"Long before that, honey. Long before".

"I guess they belong to us now, huh?"

"I believe they do, kiddo".

Perhaps all of this will belong to them someday. Not old scraps of paper in an unlabeled, cardboard box, but bits of information on a computer hard drive, stored for eternity.

Wonderin' why the right words never come...you just get numb.

There are no right words or wrong words when it comes to writing. They are simply words. And these words are exclusively my thoughts at this moment in time...8:24 a.m., August 1st, 2007.

I guess I need to continue searching for that shot of courage...and keep writing...something. Must not get numb to it all!