grounded's Diaryland Diary

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I've fallen into this crevice of non-writing in all aspects of my life and worry that without any sort of practice in the art of word presentation, my entire life is faltering. I slept the day away today, and if for nothing else, that's what weekends are good for. I felt crappy about it when I woke up but better now.

My friend Jesse wrote a while back about how to be a writer you have to just write. And it's like the motivational saying they give to people quitting smoking - "One smoke, one smoker." Oh how I hypocritically spouted this to my mom every time she'd cheat while trying to quit. To give her due props, she hasn't smoked in around a year now.

But the same is true in a broader sense than writing. To be a presentor, you must present. So I have to jump off the procastinational indiana jones holy grail invisible ledge of waiting for inspiration to strike, and Just Do It.

I just re-read Catcher in the Rye and Nine Stories, by J.D. Salinger. What a damn guy. Hemmingway too. It's an accomplishment to be entertaining and simple without sacrificing substance. People yearn for the complexity and largely unrealistic convalusion of contemporary fiction, on tv and in writing. Prefering complexity with no substance. Feeling like their brains are only serving a purpose if they're holding a knotted plot in the consciousness glass display case.

4:59 p.m. - 2003-03-01

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