  I haven't had it recently. Dana Bamburack stopped the blog from total annihilation, but at this point in my life, I'm really questioning the importance of castaway journaling. Death is a cumbersome, sobering event. Ask everyone at this camp about me, and they'll tell you I'm one of the most carefree, energetic, happiest staff members around, possibly the most spritely. And a lot of that is there...I have to admit, the work, this staff, these kids, it's made my life a lot easier over the past three weeks. But when it comes to my work, and my future, it's a completely different story. If I'm with the kids, I'm doing stuff for them. If I'm with the staff, I'm having fun, taking my mind off things, trying to weave game with the hippie female staff member who reads books and doesn't know just how much of a thing I've got for her, though she randomly stopped by my room tonight.
Yet I can't really write. I did redraft a short film, one that Scott never sent me comments back on, and I have to admit I wouldn't send comments either, because the protagonist's motives were never clear and the ending kind of came out of nowhere; I cleaned that up and made it less about fatalism and more about aesthetics. That's the kind of writing I can do. I can focus on craft. I can take an idea and put the words to it. I can do this like it's construction work...and that's a strong part of writing. But reading back through my blog of last year at this time is both inspiring and depressing.
The words I wrote...there's a life and voice to them that prevails over some poor word choice and grammar issues, but one year later, here I am, two weeks from my last post, picking up shit and flinging it onto the screen, hoping I turn a phrase well enough to keep my own interest, much less yours. Read some Burroughs. He's a good guy. Strong writer. Not all writing is traditional fiction. But Burroughs is fighting against tradition, which is good...my plots fight against tradition. I don't know...love the work, see parallels, and yet can't seem to figure out enough...
I need to get the wisdom teeth pulled...they're bitches. But honest writing...it's really a crock of shit. There are pros and cons to the work, to the utilization of audience in this manner. I did this for a reason. Got to see if that reason still exists. 
