Clarity on Obscurity

Be obscure clearly.
~E.B. White

As I have had no issue declaring in recent times - I enjoy writing.  I hope to make a living at it - someday (rather sooner than later, if I have my way).  In yesterday's post, I made mention of my twelve week fast.  I was slightly obscure about what I was giving up.  Or, maybe, I was very obscure about it - or maybe I wasn't at all.  For those who did not put two and two together (or did not read yesterday's blog), I am giving up drinking for the next twelve weeks.

There is no real reason to be obscure about this.  I know why I was dancing around it yesterday - there are a list of reasons.  Mostly out of embarrassment - I couldn't say it outright.  Guilt played a large factor into it also.  But - this blog isn't exactly about all of those feelings or thoughts or the process of decision.  (That's what I keep a journal for.)  This blog is meant to be about what I hope to gain.

A short while ago, I had made the decision that I would not drink and write at the same time.  It muddies too much up on the page.  Sure, maybe at times it helps the imagination to go a little further or it helps me spill the beans a little more freely but the truth is - I love writing just a little too much for that.  Not that truth is not what I am after.  It is.  Even in fiction, you can speak truth.  But - just as you love a person and want to be careful with them, I want to be careful with my writing.  I want to treat it delicately, even when it's a decidedly indelicate matter I am dealing with.  Tough love can be good - but is only necessary in the rarest of circumstances.

But - when I drink - I lose that.  I lose that touch, that care... that softness that I want to have.  The understanding that I have tried to obtain through the course of my life flies right out the window, into the wind and makes it's way to an empty field in Kansas, where I am unlikely to find it.  People need understanding so therefore characters need understanding.  When I drink I drop the ball on this and life comes to a halt.  Short and sweet.  Both in my writing and in my life. 

For me, I have begun to shape my life into something of my own personal masterpiece.  Or, at least, I am trying.  When I lose an entire day or two - sometimes more often than other times - the masterpiece takes a quick dive to the bottom of the Delaware River.  Where it stays until the diver can go in to find it.  I simply cannot handle losing anymore days.  I have lost enough already.  My life has lost enough already. 

To continue on the path I have been walking for some time now - without a breather from time to time from this one large personal problem that I carry around in my backpack - would be to reverse EB White's words and clearly be obscure.  To everyone, including me.  Life has asked me for more than this and I intend to give it my all.