Writing can be amazingly fun. You can create new worlds, meet new characters and spout off about whatever is important to you.

But writing can also make you cry. It can make you downright miserable. People can despise what you write, they can make fun of it, criticize it, and reject it. And as much as you tell yourself that it’s the writing and not you, it’s hard not to take it personally when you put so much of yourself in it.

And writing can be painful. Sometimes, what you need to write, or worse, what God asks you to write is hard. Absolutely no fun. And you wish it didn’t have to hit the page. There are moments when each word must be yanked out like an abscessed tooth. They don’t want to approach the page and you have to drag them over kicking and screaming.

In addition, much of the writing process is work. Do I like editing? Someone else’s stuff, sure, but my own? No. That’s like killing off bits and pieces of a dear child. And while composing dialogue or writing action comes easy (it’s why I started writing drama before I wrote fiction), good writing includes description. To include the description, I have to work hard because that’s definitely not my forte.

On top of that, being a writer can make you feel weird compared to most people. Non-writers don’t (usually) talk to imaginary people or become obsessed over a plot twist. When I try to explain what might be driving me crazy at a particular moment, the non-writer judges that I’m already over that border between sanity and insanity.

Story ideas don’t, as far as I know, keep non-writers up at night. Trying to figure out the perfect word in an opening scene doesn’t give them migraines. And characters don’t argue with them.

Sometimes, that sounds like bliss. Sometimes, it looks like life is better on the other side. You know the whole grass is greener thing?

But then, a new idea hits me. And it’s like love. I can’t wait to write about it. The character is near and dear to me and I want to share his, hers, or its story with the world. It becomes an obsession. I dream the character’s tales and imagine new dangers and disasters to plunge that victim into. Yet, I want to see how my creation triumphs at the end.

In truth, no matter how much I go through phases where I wish I didn’t write, I know God wired me to do just that. Over the years, it has been proven on multiple occasions where I tried to avoid writing and prove it didn’t exist. It made me miserable.

So, no matter what, one way or another, I am a writer. And the next time I complain about it, remind me to take it up with the Potter.

I don’t know what it is about this summer, but I’m having a hard time finishing anything. For instance, I’ll go to empty the dishwasher, then leave the clean utensils sitting in their basket on the counter. I’ll put away most of my laundry, but leave the socks or shirts still out. I’ll follow up on a job application, but only get two-thirds of the way through before I run off to do something else. I’ll start a blog post (like this one) and leave it up on my computer with only a couple of lines typed.

That doesn’t mean that all my tasks and projects go unfinished. But it does mean that the majority of them spend some time there. More time than I usually experience or would allow.

I blame some of it on persistently short attention span. At this point (140ish words), I have stepped away from this post to sleep (started it two days ago), check the mail, start laundry, edit some stories, and just pace randomly.

There are two tasks (?) that I have no issue with doing for more than a few minutes—reading a book and playing a videogame. So, I guess I could count it up to laziness and wanting to fritter my summer away. But it feels like a little more than that.

Yesterday, when I was putting the dishes away is my example. I put away the top rack and then paused to move some items to the recycling box. Then I did the bottom rack before packing my beverage cooler for work. Then I moved the silverware container to the buffet counter right above the drawer where its contents would go. I thought about putting everything else away at that moment, but doing so felt painful. Almost like giving myself a headache. I walked away. It wasn’t until later that evening, right as I was making dinner, that I felt up to putting the silverware in its slots.

Finishing something, whether it be a chore or a story or edits on a story, feels so final. And while I’ve always been someone who liked to check things off my to-do list, lately that’s been part of the emotional tug of war between wanting to staying in emotional limbo and getting the feeling of accomplishment. It’s weird.

(Okay, how many times can I check my e-mail and Facebook before I finish this post? We’re up to seven for the first and four for the latter.)

Since I have to start dinner soon, I have more of an impetus to get this done and less of the angst. If anyone has any insight on my current moody behavior, I’d love to hear it!

In the meantime, I’m going to try and finish the laundry. And dinner.

Lately, I have been writing short stories for Havok Magazine that take inspiration from songs of decades gone by. So far, I have written stories based on 50’s, 60’s and 70s songs. If I hadn’t run out of time on the 70s songs, I had ideas for another six song-stories!

It continues to surprise me how many generations like what is now termed “classic rock”. Occasionally, I run into someone decades younger than me who knows the music that played on my radio as a kid/teen better than I do. It’s a different attitude than my compatriots had when we were teens about the muzak of previous generations. While we were less than complimentary, even if we liked the music, people today seem freer to choose what music they enjoy—regardless of its era. Perhaps some of that, or maybe even a lot of it, is a result of music platforms like Pandora and iTunes. Those environments give everyone ready access to a wide variety of music styles. We can pick and choose based on sounds, lyrics, and atmosphere.

I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything from the 50s on my playlist. Or 30s or 40s. My music is 20s and prior or 60s and later. And while I have classical and jazz in my repertoire, the majority of songs originate from somewhere between 70s and present day.

That said, there is music from my personal history that evokes strong emotional responses. I often cry to the song Dust in the Wind by Kansas. A song by Styx that few people know called Suite Madame Blue makes me want to dance and act it out dramatically. In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins turns me into a drummer. Those songs are all associated with something good or bittersweet in my growing up.

Other songs prompt me to write stories or poems. What song, by which band, prompted the following poem?

Don’t Own the Lonely Heart

If you watch the eagle soar through an azure sky

Temptation to envy might bubble in your soul

But we were not made to fly alone.

Our nature hungers for a full heart

A permanent companion

Within our soul and mind

Who sees all that we would use

               To judge ourselves

               To belittle our efforts

               Or even to brag

And loves us completely anyway.

To truly fly like the eagle

Above the things of this world

Means to ride with the one

Who has the mightiest wings.

Don’t keep the lonely heart

Open it to joy.

I’d love to hear what musical memories have helped forge you!