Jack Kerouac wrote very well on the road, and he wrote “On the Road” very well. I went on the road to Portland and wrote less than well. In fact, I didn’t write at all.
First of all, my writing routines were all turned upside down with the travel and conference schedule. I had expected to do some writing but had not planned out just when and how that would take place. Consequently I fell off the wagon, and didn’t write jack. I didn’t write, Jack.
I know some people in Portland, so large chunks of time went to visiting, eating, touring, parties……all good and necessary things that Jack would probably have done as well, but I never got to the writing part. Still, I felt this nagging urge to write, and tendrils of guilt worked their way through my innards.
I worried that if too many days went bywith the habit of daily writing broken, I’d lose the momentum and writing would fall away. It could. It did. I’m writing today’s post to get my toe back in the water.
The desire to write wasn’t enough; necessary but not sufficient. I needed to have a plan for how and when I would fit the writing in while on the road. Next trip I will.
Maybe I should have also arranged to party with some wild, dissolute, impassioned beatnik poets, because I suspect that may have been one of Jack’s road-writing secrets.