47 is not the answer to everything, but it is the number of miles of barbed wire Bo Diddly walks in his song “Who Do You Love?” I own a couple version of this song, but oddly enough, this interesting factoid did not leap to mind as I sat down to google the number 47. Did you know that 47 is also the international calling code for Norway, as well at the atomic number of silver?
Okay, I’d hoped I might stumbled across some fascinating tidbit that would inspire profound or at least strange thoughts on the occasion of turning 47, since I’d convinced myself that waiting until my birthday was a great reason to procrastinate in writing this, my inaugural blog. But let’s face it, 47 is no 50. And it is a mere shadow of 42, the actual answer to everything.
My intention is to write about writing, but today, as I put fingers to keyboard, I have to ask myself what I’ve learned in these 47 years that might be worthy of sharing with the world (or at least my 107 Face Book friends). Blog wisdom seems to indicate that the blogger (me) should have something of value to offer the blogged upon (thou). It occurs to me that I might most honestly offer my heard-earned wisdom on How Not To do many things: How Not to keep snails out of your garden, How Not to stop your dog from barking at rain, How Not to maintain a buddha-like calm in the face of 24/7 fireworks display by your neighbors, How Not to sell a novel, How not to have good posture, How Not to have a great relationship, How Not to prevent a suicide. However, stepping backward into the Abyss of Nots may not be the best way to approach this.
I’d never dare presume to tell anyone How To write, that’s just crazy. What I can share is the daily thrill of it. Yes, thrill. I am that much of writing geek. Being actively creative on a daily basis is the true engine of life, the thing that keeps me going. It can be hard, very hard, frustrating, debilitating to ego and posture (see above). But I am never bored while writing, never thinking about what I should be doing instead. It’s what floats my rubber ducky, inflates my balloons, gets me out of bed. So it’s my intention to impart some of that thrill of writing, thinking about writing, and feeding the compost pile of creativity that I’d like to share with you in the hopes that shared love is love that grows, expands and takes over the world like a giant mutant fungus.
Consider this blog an ode to story; the writing, reading and living of it. Pretty or (mostly) not, because the one thing I have learned in 47 years is that in order to be happy, or aspire to happiness, I must do what I love. And that is the answer to everything.