Pick up any publication pertaining to the sport of rock climbing, and chances are, you will see a smattering of descriptive chronicles highlighting the travels and adventures of the prolific scribe Abbey Smith. A climber and writer for over 10 years, Abbey travels extensively, financing her jet set lifestyle though her writing, allowing her more opportunities to pursue her love of adventure. Abbey has reported on a myriad of topics. From the exclusive hobby of vintage motor racing, to sassy, healthy-savvy posts on BeThree.com, to being on the editorial staff of the independent green publication elephant journal, a quarterly magazine devoted to living the "mindful life" through conscious consumerism, sustainability, eco-fashion and non new-aged spirituality.
Abbey's energy for writing is ravenous. When she speaks of it, her article ideas roll out of mouth in constant barrage without commas, periods, or other punctuation, but when placed in front of a computer, the word stream subsides into descriptive prose reminiscent of Joanne Harris. Dead Point Magazine is privileged to have her as a contributing blogger.
A 10-hour drive is the difference between dreamy climbing life and dark, depressing winter. Spending almost two months in Hueco Tanks was an absolute fantasy: a low-key refuge with endless climbing, dear friends and warm winter sunshine. Some call it escapism, but for me a climbing trip like that offers insight, where my hopes and secret desires are set into motion.
For some reason, come January, life always spins out of control. And now I'm back in the rat race... navigating the gauntlet of dinosaurs and robots that are continuously bumping into each other and making noise. The robots are programmed, the dinosaurs can't operate the new system, and the underground is rising up to take it all back. Time is speeding by so quickly and before I know it, it's already another day and I'm sitting at my laptop again, daydreaming and tap tapping away. I think I'm one of the last people on earth not on Facebook. If I joined, I would become socially overloaded, productivity would cease, and at the same time, I'd never be able to keep up. Time is too precious. My fingers are getting soft and my body is anxious, but from my time away, my imagination is full of abstract shapes of all colors, melting and spilling into pools of inspiration....
I admit I'm a hyperactive combination of right-brained, conceptual thinking and a Type-A personality that's incapable of relaxation. After being chained to my computer, I need to physically exhaust myself in order to sleep at night. No stranger to chaos, I crave those unexpected moments, which I ultimately can't control and forces me to react off intuition and skill. Traveling the world to climb outdoors is that perfect drug, without it I feel like a junky. But how do I function during the space in-between?
This month I've been testing the boundaries of insanity, vigorously writing through the night, riding the wave inspiration from traveling. I've reconnected with old friends, buffed my calloused toes, and embarked on a new artistic process-script writing for television, even though I haven't had cable in 10 years. To sustain the creative flow, I strolled along the First Friday art walk in Denver. It was refreshing and inspiring to see young talented artists successfully selling their progressive, thought provoking masterpieces to the highest bidder. That's what we all want...for our work to get out there, stand the test of time, make someone smile, and get paid too. As the Canadian experimental hip-hop artist Buck 65 said:
"The idea of style and competing for the best style is the key to all forms of rocking. For the rap MC it's rocking the mic, for the b-boys it's rocking your body in break dancing, or for writers, rocking the city, with your name on a train."
"You Know the Science" from Year Zero ~Buck 65