Editor’s note: Today’s guest post is from Matthew Dryden. He knows how to think out of the box. The entries in his blog are gripping, passionate and at times get an R-rating for extreme violence (think blood, blood and blood). He’s one of the true followers of the sacrosanct art of writing and I’ve never seen someone who pursues it so relentlessly. He has conquered his own fear and self-doubt, pounded it into a bloody pulp to the point that it can never resurrect again – a vital achievement for any writer who’s often tormented by his own demons. Just be careful not to slit your wrists after reading his work.
It is there, inside the box.
You might be thinking that it’s the novel that I was writing a year ago – and for the last 4 years before that – that novel that became so much that I couldn’t handle it. Or you might be thinking that it’s the body parts that I was claiming I was cutting up last week because they were easier to hide.
It is there, pulsing in the box.
I’m not going to be opening it, not yet. I’m going to sit here and stare at it – I know what is inside of it. I’m going to dance around the living room and eat food with it. I’m going to carry it on the bus with me to work because I know that I can’t leave home without it.
It is there, quivering in the box.
I’m out here, shivering. I believe that it fucking deserves to be in the box because it didn’t do me any damned good to let it out last time – besides, there is this email that I have to write, this floor that I need to sweep, and that damned bathroom that needs to be cleaned.
I’m not ready for this to be a 100% thing because I lack the motivation. I’m not opening this damned box because I don’t need to deal with the supposed blood that would be getting everywhere, leaving smears on the wall and the sink – and I only just got rid of the stench that it left from the last time I decided it might be a good idea to see what the fuss was about.
I’m not opening that box.
I’d rather be writing something else, I’d rather be sitting my cafe, sipping coffee, staring out the window, listening to Iron and Wine, I’d rather be making friends, I’d rather be living life in the fast lane. I want to party on my free nights, work full-time, buy a new house by myself, I’d rather never get on a stage or have to stand behind my collective creative work.
Then I start thinking about it and suddenly I want to rip off the wrapping paper like it’s Christmas Eve and I was allowed to open only one gift! And at the same time, I want to undress it slowly and properly, savoring each moment – raising my expectations inch by inch. I want to hold it in my arms and revel in the passionate embrace.
This gift that I was given is something that I know I should open. I have always made excuses, given up on it. I’ve hid from it. This gift is something that I feel I must face fully and completely. I must do this now, or it’ll never happen.
No more waiting. No more complaining, whining, disbelieving. It’s there, inside the box. My talent, my gift, my calling, my mantra, my vocation, my passion. This time I embrace my purpose. It will not be complete immediate gratification, there will be storms to push back against, fear to rise above, and almost every other part of my life to need to be readjusted to make room for it.
I am ready, I am ready, this is my time.
Photo by: rubbernun
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