Evolution of This Moment

Have you ever had the experience where you’re wrestling with something in your head, and then you do something random, like open a book that you haven’t looked at in years, and the answer to your questions are all there, written in perfect response, in permanent black ink on the page?

I’ve been wanting to start blogging again. It’s been on my mind a lot since about November of last year. After giving up on my creative career two or three times now, I am determined to get the whole thing right this time around. So, I’ve been researching. One of the things I’ve been reading up on has been 'how to blog’.

I’m a writer. I’m usually toeing the line between journaling and writing. I consider myself a writer though, because many of my free-writes come out in the form of poems, and I love editing. The process of editing makes me want to share my writing, because it seems like a waste to finish perfecting something and then just close it in a book. And this is exactly what all the ‘how to blog’ blogs say not to do. They say not to write about yourself and not to publish your ‘journal’.

I don’t usually do what people expect. Yesterday, I reworked all of the pages in my Potential Blog Posts folder. I haven't been posting them because I haven't decided whether I should set them forth into the world in the form of a blog. Other forms considered were/are zines, long ramble-y instagram posts, or printing them out and leaving them in boxes for some grand-kid of mine to discover when I'm dead. But I love them. These scraps of writing are so true to my heart and are accounts of my adventures, mundane existence, and all that lies between.

I wasn’t even planning to go to the library this week. I just kind of parked at the grocery market in my neighborhood and ended up at the library. I took home three books, one of which was Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal, a fellow Chicagoan. I had never heard of her before. I read a chapter this morning, called Evolution of this Moment, where Ms. Rosenthal gives a timeline from her birth, or actually Sei Shonagon’s and then her’s, until the moment where her book is being read by the reader, me.

Just before I opened this book, I had spontaneously written a mini-manifesto that began, Fuck the Fuck off, my work is for me. You can make up the rest. It was in that spirit, that I opened up Amy’s book, and in it found complete affirmation to keep going forth, to bypass judgement, and to continue writing, in what ever way that I write.



Just know, lovely readers, that this blog is just what is coming out of me and that I thoroughly enjoyed pouring it onto paper and mixing it all up, just right, to share with you. I am happy to be writing for an audience again, and as always, thank you for your readership :)



Lindsey Claire