Casting my net

okay, this is ridiculous. i absolutely love to write, and to share my thoughts with the world (the world being possibly only 5 people who follow this blog with any regularity), and yet i just can't seem to get into any kind of blogging rhythm.

after a conversation with a new friend last night, i realize that i need to start writing every day. and that i will attempt to do—definitely in my actual physical journal. but, also, in the meantime, i have a huge treasure chest of "3 minute morning" entries dating back many years.

so now, here i am, wanting to get out NYC, and i have been "casting my net" to see what transpires. i am mostly looking for jobs in youth ministry, education, music or the non-profit sector. however, it dawns on me today that i would also LOVE to be able to blog or write for a living (i have begun developing a full-fledged idea for a work of non-fiction; and, to my surprise, i also actually started a novel a couple of months ago!) SO, since i'm looking to move onto the next vocational stage in my life, it only makes sense that one of the nets i cast is that as a writer. to that end, i am going to TRY (yoda: "there is no try. there is do or do not.) to put something up on this blog EVERY DAY. i am so frikkin busy, that i imagine this will be a difficult goal—but one i must set nonetheless. SO, instead of having to create something new every day, i am simply going to delve into the treasure chest and type in some very old, short journal entries—at least the ones i feel i can share with the world. maybe someone in the publishing world will take notice, and i will haul in the big one!

here goes. this was from april 25, 2005 (i think), while i was singing at an opera house in stonington, maine. obviously from about 20 minutes before we were to start rehearsing, while everyone was warming up:

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music. sound. noise. silence. a wonderful symphony of dissonances, consonances . . . . crescendo to forte—loud as hell at times; other times pianissimo. the crickets chirp; a pin drops.

holy shit it's loud when eight singers all warm up at the same time! reminds me of new york—broadway avenue at rush hour; harlem at night. an evil necessary? it is so unpleasant, so loud. i hearken to only even last night, when i was sitting in silence listening to the waves of water smooching the shore—playful little junior high school dance kisses, given by yucky boys to icky girls. sweet innocence. before the fall.

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