What Is A Writer?

I've had a few days of pouring energy into something that has seemed to bubble up from the core of me the moment I claimed a loss for words.  Funny how that works.  Like by claiming the missing I conceived the finding.  How by the voicing I damned the damning.

I read this today: "Write something that you can't stand NOT to write."  How can I stop if it's pouring out all on it's own?  I can't.  I couldn't stand to stop.

I have this vision of running away - anywhere will do - running away to just write...to let my fingers do the talking...to see this from conception to the birthing in one large unbroken breath.

I had this notion that to be writer you had to be "published".  But don't you only need to write?  To make music with words; verses with rhythm, harmonies with synonyms...to create something from nothing, from empty space where no story lay before - that is a writer.

So yes, that is what I am.

And all I want is to create something beautiful.

In A Novel World

2,569 words.

Pages of notes.

A growing list of research bookmarks.

Characters that are already breaking my heart.

A humble beginning but a beginning no less.

Writer's Block

I have felt stuck for a while.  Like maybe I'll never write anything good again.  Like I've used up every idea, sapped every notion, defeated each inkling before it's conception.

I have felt sad.

And desperate.

And empty.

And itching to pour out something of worth.  Something that might move you.  Something that might change you.  Something that might enter a conversation in a grocery store aisle in a, "have you read it yet?" kind of way.

Maybe that arrogance is what blocks me.  Did Leonard Cohen really think he'd change the world when he sat down to write?  Shall I step up to the humility plate and claim it as my homestead?

Instead, I am claiming today - this grey-skied dreary - and I will saturate it in black and white and the tap tap tap of words I'm not really thinking about but may read back later and think, "finally!"

Rewards of the Day

10.  And, as a perfect ending, I had a willing and splashing and singing helper as I washed the dinner dishes.



Yep...it was a good day!

Brushing

She crawls behind me on the couch, small hands pressed gently against my neck for balance as she perches at my back.  "Ten you take out you ponytaowl, Mommy?  I wantta bwush you hayar."

I unlock strands from a frayed elastic, letting it fall in a messy sheet, kinked and dull from it's dinner time prison.

"Whoa.  You hayar so long!  Wike Punzzle!"

"Like Rapunzel?"

"Dat's what I sayd...just wike Punzzle."

She already has the brush and lays it gently upon my scalp, pulling it down through tangles, whispering..."caow-fu-wwee...caow-fu-wwee..."

She plants a hand on my head and curls her face around to look at me.  "Do you wike dat, Mommy?"

"Yep."

Back to brushing.  "I haff to be caowfuwl."

"That's right.  I don't want you to hurt me."

"I wouldn't.  I be caofuwl.  I be nice.  Weal nice.  Wike Santa!"

Game Night

Let's turn off the television.
Let's put away video games and computers.
Let's play.
Let's pull out the old game board.
Let's not worry that we've lost all the pieces because we've got enough jellybeans for a hundred games.
Let's laugh and roll and count and move and remember that this is what it means to be a family.

Is That Real Life?

The Princess Bride

Our hearts are stolen: captured by Buttercup, awed by Westley, forever destined to quote Indigo Montoya...

"Dat's towtowee my favwit movie!" Liam makes his declaration as credits roll and bedtime calls.
"Mommy, is dat weal life?
"What do you mean?"
"Like da movie?  Is dat weal life, like in da past ago?"
"You mean swords and pirates and princesses?"
"Yeah, like da movie?"
"The movie isn't real but swords and pirates and princesses are all real."
"Whoa...seeweeously?"
"Seriously!"
"Whoa...I'm gonna be da Dwead Piwit Woberts!"

And so...