Focus.  Until I have a specific topic to hone in on, my writing discipline must be focused.

I spoke earlier about Internet distractions.  I believe they will grow less once my topic is clarified.  Something about feeling, the powerful hold of creation, and thoughtfulness of one’s craft.

Since mine is writing, I am interested in what drove others to create, their journey and ultimately, their creation, the bravest act of expression they know.

This interest is made even more baffling since the Internet distractions often go to celebrities and not creators.  It is almost as if the Internet is truly for shutting down the intelligent side of my brain, resulting in anger, annoyance, frustration and disgust well after I have shut the laptop.

 I have a talent for clicking on the stories that will piss me off the most.  And thoroughly disturbed, I then scroll down to see reader comments, which have never made me feel better about the awful story I just read.

Being conscious of this bad habit gives me hope I will feed into it less and less.

A regimen of writing is my focus for now.  Whether the writing is worth preserving comes later.

When Philip Seymour Hoffman passed away I went through my film collection and watched a new PSH every day.  It was a week of memorable characters and excellent films.

When Robin Williams passed away recently I attempted to do the same thing but found I only had two of his films: The Birdcage and One Hour Photo.  It struck me that although he also had memorable characters, the majority of his films were not ones I wished to see all the way through.  Even Patch Adams which has Williams and PSH does not measure up to my high standards.

That is also a possible topic for the future.

My high standards for art.  The requirements and the subjectivity.

Actually, I’m a snob.  I like what I like, can usually tell you why I like it, defend why I like it over other things, and have often been able to convince others to try it as well.

I used to be an utter dick when I was a teenager, and into my early twenties, but think I have matured and learned that at least if I do not like something, rather than badmouth it, at least have several good reasons why so it may be debated intelligently, and be able to accept difference in opinion without thinking less of a person because they absolutely loved Titanic.

I started to dislike mainstream, popular, mass accepted things about the same time I started acting like a dick.  About the same time I started liking N.W.A., Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, and Playboy. 

My journey through powerful, absorbing art reached an interesting crossroads recently when I was suddenly faced with whittling down my possessions by two thirds.  What did I think I would need for the next year?

That question is worth a blog entry in itself.