confessions of writing

confession: after falling away from my writing group a few years ago, i sat in a circle of gifted writers today. if, according to  annie dillard, “how we spend our hours is, of course, how we spend our lives,” then i am doing life correctly and spending my hours well, at least during 11am to 1pm on wednesdays in austin.

confession: when i returned home after writing group, the apartment reeked of bleach because i am de-mildewing the shower and i was hungry and the laundry in the dryer was still wet and suddenly i felt less sure of my capacity to rock this life, but i lit candles and incense, opened a window, set more time on the dryer, and grabbed a spoon plus a jar of peanut butter, so all is right and well and good again. i have no real problems and very few imaginary ones.

confession: i have real fears, though mostly unlikely or leftover and inapplicable.

confession: i learned this morning that relative to other writers’ journal entries, i journal like an angry semi-literate teenager. luckily, i’ve always been a journal burner, so no one besides you and me need ever know.

confession: wait…pause…i just had to take a deep breath before writing this next confession…so let’s take a collective deep breath and consider the next big scary truth we might speak. if you actually pause…you’ll probably know right away which big scary truth you’d confess if you could, if you were ready, if you were brave. what is that truth?

confession: i need to write what i know so that others may know themselves better, may recognize their own desires, may make connections to their own insights and wisdom. the specific things i know come through a bisexual filter…and those truths are the same as any other universal truths…because sex is only a small part of what informs the whole and sex is often untrue.

confession: months ago i set an intention for sexual awakening and as my awakening wakes up, sex is the smallest part.

confession: i rendezvous with the ex-wife tomorrow night, our second meeting in the past three months, which is also only our second meeting in nearly eight and a half years. i’m going to apologize for the way i left, not for leaving, but for my silence that required her to imagine the reasons since i offered none. i won’t offer the reasons for my leaving unless she asks for them, because she might be content with the ones she constructed. in order to finish my unfinished business with her, i need to apologize for what i most regret, for everything i would do differently if do-overs were possible in divorces.

confession: my favorite thing about revising my writing is that i can do-over anything.