I left the blogworld a few weeks ago with the notion to find Zen, thinking that maybe it wasn’t possible, and even if it was, that I probably wouldn’t want to keep it. A little bit of paradise … who needs that? Nobody and I’ll tell you why. Once you get a taste of perfection, there is nothing left for you but that which is less than perfect. So, back to Zen.
You’re gonna’ kill me. You don’t even want to hear this. Click on the little X in the top right hand of your screen now. I have bad news, and you’ve been forewarned.
I did find Zen, but it didn’t fall into my lap; I didn’t see it in those gazillion stars; no one gave it to me; I didn’t steal it; cook it; clean it; burn it; or paddle that sissy-ass state of enlightenment to the other side of the lake. It certainly wasn’t found in my ‘children of the corn’ who actually had more marshmallow in their hair than what was sold in the bag, or my darling husband who insisted I not write for a whole week—who’s he kidding? No, I found Zen because … I had to create it myself.
I know, I know. I told you to close the window. But it’s true. I had to create it. It’s so cliché, I’m probably plagiarizing some counselor with a B.A. in Philosophy in Vermont right now, but it’s true: if I wanted any kind of peace on my trip, I had to create it myself. I somewhat already knew that going in, but who the heck listens to that voice anyway?
However, get this—finding Zen and being a writer have a lot in common: there’s no map and plenty of obstacles; a high chance of hair-pulling episodes; doubt to the tenth power; a few cat fights with your bizarro self; and the ultimate realization that you just have to take it on—and bam—you’re there, living it. So, there you have it. Zen and writing; they might not always go together, but they’re definitely related.
P.S. I am working on a ton of stories right now and hope to have material out soon.