‘With whom I can be what I want to be.’ This is a line from a song of a Ian Anderson album (“Benefit”–Jethro Tull).  I understood this line perfectly.  It is important what friends you surround yourself with:  they can either bring you up or down.  It is critical, also, whom you choose as your mate.  He/she can help you be what you ought to be or get in the way.  I could not do all the writing I do had it not been for my wife’s support.  I would not have my web site (siggyscafe.com) or blog (siggyscafe.com/Blog) if it was not for her.  No one can completely fulfill your needs but it is important to be around others as much as you can who support your most important endeavors.  Another words, who let you be who you want to be.  You will be happier in the long run.

Why is it your own “blood” does not validate you?  My writing growing up was always taken for granted by my immediate family–my mom and dad and two sisters.  In the beginning it was my letter writing.  In the sixties I started keeping a journal.  In the late seventies I wrote poetry.  And now I am going on the fifth year of keeping a web site and blog.  Both of my parents are now dead.  I am not sure if my two sisters ever go on my web sites.  They usually don’t comment on them.  My writing is who I am, what is going on which is important to me.

Gratefully my wife cares about my writing, as well as other friends.  I found out I had a talent for making people laugh at open mikes.  And that is a validation of my writing although humor is not the only type of writing I do.  I keep getting hits on my web sites and that is encouraging.  And occasionally I get a poem published in a literary magazine.  I guess we choose our friends.  We can’t choose our family.  Up till his dying day my father who lived until ninety-two was more impressed with money than anything I wrote.  I was a failure in that area.  That still hurts.  Sometimes you have to go outside of your family for validation.  And that was my case.

You have improved my life.  It goes beyond the obvious.  The material.  The house we live in.  We both love books and music.  And the house is bursting with them.  We both share a deep love of both.

The web site and blog you had a major hand in formatting.  I never would have started either if it wasn’t for you.  One and one really make three.

I prepare meals for you gratefully.  It is a privilege for me.  The two CD’s of my poetry came about for you encouraged me to recite my poetry in public and praised my delivery.

I never had such a large living room window and we watch the birds come to our feeders.  If you had not loved watching birds as much as me, it never would have come about.

I play my music for you all the time.  I usually play “DJ”.  That is a privilege to share my music.  We grew up in the same time frame and are familiar with quite a bit of the same music.  That is a gift.

You make me laugh and that is also a gift.  I write more funny poems because of your encouragement.

There are so many ways you enrich my life and these are only a few quickly stated ways.

It is never too late to renew an old friendship.  I received an E Mail from someone I lost touch with.  He did a search and found my web site.  We talked on the phone today for an hour and just picked up where we had left off.  It has been a number of years since we last talked.  Old friends never leave you.  They just fade away although when one wants to be my friend again and the connection is still there I never refuse an offer.  It is never too late.  Only when death comes do you lose the final opportunity to rekindle a lost friendship.  It is never too late.  So pick up the phone now.  And call that person you no longer talk to.  If you have to reconcile a broken friendship, do so.  Everyone’s time runs out eventually.  You may regret the lost opportunities.  No one lives forever.

Writing is not an end point but a journey.  You never really arrive.  Writing is a process.  Someone called my short article on journal keeping (which can be found on http://www.siggyscafe.com) a ‘blurb’.

That might be but it took me a lifetime to write.  Several decades of journal keeping.  My wife also did a masterful job of editing it.

I am well aware I will never write the great American novel.  I simply am not motivated that way.  I simply want to write something and get out as quickly as possible.  I am conscious of that.  I strive for simplicity and clarity.  I accepted that a long time ago.

The longer pieces I have written in my lifetime were very difficult for me to do.  I have written only a few short, short stories.  I find it interesting that a fellow writer who has the opposite problem — keeping the word count down — recommended that on some longer pieces she wanted to hear more detail.

Maybe I need to take her advice.  It certainly would stretch me.  There really is no point in which you have arrived as a writer although you might consider publication of a book one.

At every point you write, you whole past is impacting your writing.  Writing is always a process and journey.  Otherwise you are constantly repeat (constantly repeat (or) are constantly repeating) yourself.

I Just Felt Bad

Author: siggy

I just felt bad.  I had gone on a rant about the disorder in this house, all the things that I never wanted to come in this house especially the “stuff” we brought back from Austin when her Mom died.  It filled two rooms and a garage.  Our house was full of stuff.  There was also the “chaos” room.

Also months ago my wife had discovered a web site for people to exchange stuff they did not want.  It appeared that for every one thing that went out three things came in.

Her face had dropped after my ten minute rant.  I had a major hand in souring her mood.  I wish I could take my words back.  I just felt bad.  I discounted totally the effort she had made in getting rid of some of the stuff.  I just made her feel bad.