Thirty-One: A Year-Long Project
Join me as I attempt to write something new every day for the next year
Hello friends,
I’m writing to you in the middle of the week to let you know about my new project. For the next year (beginning last week on my birthday) I’m challenging myself to write every single day. I’ve attempted year-long art challenges before, but I’ve never actually completed one. I’m taking a different approach to this one, though—I don’t expect to create something great every day. I’ve already accepted there will be days where whatever I write is absolute shit. Making a masterpiece is not the goal. Writing itself is the goal.
I decided to share this project for a couple of reasons. The first is accountability. If you all expect me to write every day, I will be more likely to write every day. But I also think this can be a fun experiment in personal growth. I’m looking forward to seeing how these daily snippets evolve over the year. Maybe you’ll even be inspired to start your own year-long project.
Because these daily missives will (usually) be quite short, I’ll be sharing them on a weekly basis. And without further ado, here is Week One of Thirty-One.
Day One (April 27th) The time is never right, it is only now. Golden fire ripples through flesh and promises an everlasting light. I brought the time that you wanted. Do you have what I deserve? I got high and wrote that. I don’t know what it means, but I like the sound of it. I don’t know what my cat means either when she meows and chirps, but the sound makes me smile nonetheless. Day Two (April 28th) Conversations in empty parking lots at night reminiscent of our younger selves. Think back to secrets whispered and laughter belted into the air. The nights end earlier now, but feelings of infinite possibilities linger. Day Three (April 29th) I wonder where all the forgotten things go. What happens to thoughts trailed off mid-sentence and words lost to lack of use? Do they sit with all the previously-memorized phone numbers left behind by the advent of smartphones? Dreams must be there, wherever there is. They feel so urgent when your eyelids are heavy and reality is foggy. But when the sun rises, they fade away. Do they become whole again in the company of other things unremembered? Day Four (April 30th) cranes lifted skyward red lights blinking their warning night cradles me home Day Five (May 1st) I tried to write something poetic for a bit, but the truth is that I simply fucking hate auto-injector pens. Needing to stick myself every month to keep my brain from eating itself is bad enough. Big Pharma does a lot of terrible shit, but pushing auto-injectors over pre-filled syringes is evil. Day Six (May 2nd) The scary parts can only frighten us if we refuse to look at them. They tell you not to name an animal you plan to slaughter, but death is only one option. Name your fears, and invite them to live with you. Look them in the eyes or whatever approximates as eyes. Be kind. Offer them a beer or a cup of tea. Embrace your experiences, even if they haunt you, especially if they haunt you. We sometimes linger longer than we should. Day Seven (May 3rd) There are forty to fifty dead earthworms on my front doorstep. Presumably, they crawl up to the shaded tile looking for a reprieve from the heat of May. But why not just burrow into the dirt? Maybe they can’t find their way back to the earth. Maybe the heat has so thoroughly disoriented them that all they can do is curl up and wait to die. Every day there are more of them. I wonder what draws them to my door.
There it is, the first week of my thirty-first year on this earth. Let me know what you think. I’ll see you next Wednesday for Week Two.
I love your day 6. 🍺🫖
Good luck on your writing journey overthe next year!
Fine writer and reader of Substack—we are starting a movement to get a poetry section added to the platform. Can I ask, are you with us?
https://substack.com/profile/10309929-david/note/c-15579327
If so, please consider clicking the above link and liking the Notes post—leave a comment or even share within your own community. Poetry lives on in the minds of hearts of writers, it breathes on the page.
Your voice can be heard among the starry illuminations, howling at the moon.
Thank you for your time and support.
Love and appreciation,
David