I’m partial to Truman Capote. Though, Proust. Proust! That might be more effective.
I got out of my car and freaked out a little bit because I had the feeling that my neighbor’s gigantic pine trees were cracking and falling down. Let me tell you how creepy that was — the trees are very tall, and falling branches around here kill people.
I looked up, trying to scan the tree tops for the offending branch getting ready to annihilate me, when I caught sight of the culprit.
This is the biggest, baddest woodpecker I have ever seen. And he was going to town on the branch. Going to town.
I admire his tenacity. Peck peck peck. Going to town.
I’m inspired to get back to my keyboard and do the same. Peck peck peck.
1. that first delicious stretch in the morning
smell taste of just-brewed coffee
3. the rhythmic swish and scratch of the pen on the page in an eruption of inspiration
Some days I have it in spades.
Let me just say that as a writer, I live in the land of insecurity.
Do my readers get me? Did I communicate what I meant? Does anyone even read what I write?
Sometimes I feel like I’m driving in heavy traffic, talking to myself, and suddenly, the teen-aged version of me asks, “Are you talking to yourself?”
It’s that moment when I’m embarrassed and can still laugh at myself all at the same time. I think that part is important — the ability to laugh. Especially at myself.
I know deep down my insecurity is just a feeling that goes hand in hand with the creative process. I create something. I put it out there. You judge it. It’s all very scary.
And it’s all about me. Insecurity is internal: it’s always about me, me, me! What if I take that insecurity and turn it inside out?
What if instead of me, I think of you? What if instead of being insecure and being self-absorbed in my perceived short-comings, I move that energy outward and inspire?
I like that a whole lot better. It takes the attention away from me and places it on you — to encourage you — to inspire you.
Because if I can take a risk and write, you can take a risk to do whatever it is you were meant to do.
I suppose, as I remove spiderweb from my face and hair, that I could see this as, perhaps, a message that I could be as committed to success in my own projects. I get it. I do. I’ll go build some spiderwebs of my own.
Then, I will sit quietly with my coffee and watch the rest of the world do the “freaked out oh my god I just walked into a spiderweb dance.” And laugh.