Tag: writing

I flit between various freebie writing apps to do my writing on this here blog.  I suspect that it lends to my recent bout of half-assery, but may increase the likelihood I’ll write.  Increase it because I have more toys to play with.  The trouble is that there are part I like about each but none I like fully enough to employ indefinitely.  Today I’ve lighted on Celtx.

An obscure search recently landed some floundering soul on the beaches of 1000 Days.  He or she wanted to find a ‘sentence for the word depatic’.  Google is aware of only three instances on the whole web that can potentially fulfill such a request.  1000 Days is at the top of the list.  Too bad for the intrepid searcher that I made up a fantastical context–and no true meaning–for the real world word.  It’s a dumb search.  Are there many words you can search for on the web that are not in sentences?

There are two posts that use the word depatic.  One is an edit of the other so no need to read both.  Reading over the post reminded me when I found this daily writing effort  more effortless.  More free.  Thanks for reminding me.

For the searcher wondering ‘what is rain called that never hits the’ [ground] I’d like to give another bit of thanks.  It’s been a long time since I recalled learning and using that word.

I thought I’d work my way into this thing again.  Getting over a hump of this magnitude is a little tough.  Imagine skipping Mass for most of your college life.  Then imagine trying to get up one Sunday morning after graduation and drag your ass to church again when all you want to do is sleep late.  You can easily praise Him with biscuits and gravy at brunch rather than the Eucharist at 8:44.  Today, writing feels like that.

Worse, tomorrow, trying to write is going to feel like the next Sunday when you weasel out of the ecclesiastical trip on the grounds that you don’t want to over do your renewed zest for religion lest you return to your collegiately imposed heathenistic ways.

Or imagine an air-conditioned pick-up and a humid South Texas parking lot.  The brightness outside a theater after a matinée.  Someone requesting, “Smell this.”  Then shoving a carton of milk toward you.  Worse, “Taste this.”.

At first your return writing is a little mechanical.  Little more than a proper arranging of words on a page then capping them every so often with a period.  Maybe even less, a mere stretch of the fingers across the keyboard.  All uninspiring; all easily ignored well before even your most dedicated of readers makes it four paragraphs in.  That’s fine.  You’re actually searching for the habit, the pattern, the rote familiarity of I before E (except after C).  Casting for creativity or color too soon stirs gentle waters and those shiny fish dart for the coverage among the roots and shadows.

Just drop in the line.  Just watch the bobber.  Just repeat.

Day 321