Funk off
A funny thing happened to me yesterday on the way to do my grocery shopping. This was after I went back inside to find my cloth face mask. As I drove off with my mask in the car I began singing aloud to an old Funk Compilation CD that I have been listening to recently. Take a moment now to say a gratitude that this is not a podcast.
But seriously folks… Just before I left for the store I had checked my Amazon sales graph for Tripio. The arrow pointed downwards with a vengeance. Hmmm. Was this confirmation that Tripio sucks? Sure, if I let it be. Maybe it was also confirmation that I should keep up my writing. You are curious why I should keep it up exactly when the arrow points down? The very arrow that bestows approval and validation on Tripio and by extension me, is telling me to quit? I would answer that I was telling external validation to funk off.
Who says?
I was filled with song because my reaction to the arrow was confirmation of what I always claim; that I ain’t in this writing for money, fame and rankings. So, funk off, external validation. I’m not doing this for you. To clarify, sleeping in for me that means getting up at 6:30 a.m. That night’s rest had a significant part in boosting my spirits. I had nothing urgent to pull me out of bed to the keyboard.
When I was in the process of revising Back outta the World for the last time I would be pulled out of bed by the need to get it finished. Sometimes that meant my eyes would open as early as 4 a.m. My physical body was pissed, but got over it soon after I had my morning doppio. (never fear-I have an espresso machine at home). My emotional, spiritual and mental bodies were in charge then. Now with Back outta the World done, I decided to give myself a break. After some contemplation, I decided to halt the search for an editor and take a break from longer form writing. Well, I am still blogging and working on a short story or two. My four bodies had come to an agreement and I was able to sleep in.
Funk me
So here I was, singing along to “You dropped a bomb on me” on the way to the store yesterday morning. My sense of self, my intention for all this writing had been confirmed. I have said all along that writing is merely one of the results of a well-tended Mind Garden. Of course, maintaining that garden is the hard part in all of this. The writing itself isn’t. My horrid singing validated my process and that intention. The mind garden was fertilized, watered and ready for the coming day. I am as good as my word. Which is pretty important if you are a writer.
If you are lucky to have read this post you may be thinking that you have read it before. It is indeed a repost. I have improved it here and there. Recently, my own mind garden was trampled. It has been beautifully restored and I am up early these days working on another writing project. The working title is “Altonstreet & Philpatrick”. The adventures of this pair of aspiring yet clueless writers is getting me up early these days. I am glad that it is.
“May I help who’s next?”
