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.
Ha. Ha. It ain’t no party, this writer’s block thing. I don’t suppose whining about it is productive, either, but there’s something to be said for sharing the angst with other writers. Thus the party, right?
I’ll bring the whine.
This round of blockage is courtesy of too many things on my plate, both emotional and long lists of tasks. My father’s recent illness and death, a huge and on-going de-cluttering project (how in the world have we accumulated so much stuff?), demands at the office. It weighs down the creative soul. Or maybe I’m just afraid of what might come out of the pen, so I put it down.
The solution is to write anyway. At least that’s what my writer-friends tell me.
Write. Even if it’s crap. It’s still writing, and then maybe something good will come of it. I’m hopeful, anyway.
I’m still blocked. I’m still writing. And I’m still hopeful.
1. that first delicious stretch in the morning
2. the smell taste of just-brewed coffee
3. the rhythmic swish and scratch of the pen on the page in an eruption of inspiration
Had breakfast with a friend. Stretched the creative muscles. Bought honey for my honey. Prayed with the monks. Put my pen to paper. Received lovely virtual flowers. Watched an artist at work. Sat in the sun. Chatted with a bluebird. Walked. Sent a postcard. Prayed a rosary.
Breathed.
Deeply.
It was such a lovely day today that I headed out to the Monastery of the Holy Spirit for the afternoon.
I intended to sit in the cool half light of the church, but when I parked I was overcome with the desire to sit in the sun. The field was inviting, and the birds were all singing at once.
There was a blanket in the back seat, a leftover from a harsher than normal winter, so I made myself a little island in the middle of a green ocean. The birds sang to me and the sun finally got past the ever-present chill and warmed me. All the way through.
I read and wrote, and I think maybe I dozed a little in the sun, too. And then the bells called us all to prayer. I couldn’t resist the pull. Look, the gate was open for me.
My favorite deep purple over-stuffed chair beckoned me. The pizza guy just delivered my favorite pizza…extra cheese, onions, and garlic. Mmmmmmm. Who has two thumbs and ain’t afraid of no garlic?
Me! And my high school BFF, Martha, who happens to be doing some really cool things with literacy. Apparently, she also really likes french fries.
Read her blog, A Reel Cool Summer, buy her books, and follow her writing prompts to get your kiddoes writing!
I’m a good girl, and followed her prompt for Week 13 although I think there’s a typo there. It’s to age 50, right?
Thru age 5: Mom or Dad can help you write down your favorite animal, color, and food. And the name of a person you love and your favorite book. My purple guinea pig reads The Cat in the Hat while Bego and I eat pizza! What’s your silly story, little one? PARENTS: Just because very young children can’t actually write down their stories, doesn’t mean they can’t make them up. Have your child dictate a story to you. Write it out or type it on your computer and have him or her draw some illustrations for it. That’s a fun activity for both of you!
I have to write a speech. It has me in knots, not because I’m afraid of speeches, but because every time I sit in front of the computer or journal or notebook or pile of scrap paper, or, for heaven’s sake, a napkin, I get a brain cloud.
It’s pretty annoying, as folks are starting to ask what I’m going to say. I don’t think it’ll fly if I respond with, “Oh, I’ll let the Spirit move me when I get up to the podium.”
Ha. I could do it, too. Get up there and just talk, I mean. That doesn’t scare me nearly as much as having to prepare a speech. I don’t even get a teleprompter. It seems to work for some people. But then again, I’m not running for public office.
What I most want to do is avoid the helpful people…people I’d no more allow to put words in my mouth than cut my bangs. They are everywhere. And they scare me. Ha!
Not really. I’m mostly amused, by them, my predicament, the fact that ordinarily I never shut up and now I need to dig for words.
I think it’s a good thing. I feel like I’ve forgotten how to write. I’ve been dwelling in the underbelly of the writer’s world these past many months — writing very dry, very boring, very technical reports. Stephen King would have a thing or three to say about my overuse of adverbs. I’ve replaced poetry with formula –replaced the beauty of a well-turned phrase with passive voice so as not to offend.
I need to find my writer’s heart, and I better find it quick. The clock is ticking.
I’m sure I’ve confessed my love of journals here. Utilitarian canvas-covered sketchbooks and beautifully embossed covers with sewn-in creamy pages make me want to write brilliant things in them.
Then I get clammy hands and a terrible case of writer’s anxiety when I fear I won’t be brilliant…just…mediocre, and I don’t want to ruin the beautiful pristine pages with my ramblings. Because of this silly notion, I’ve amassed a stack of lovely (and some utilitarian) journals, sitting pretty and empty on my book shelf, longing to fulfill their purpose and house all kinds of thoughts.
Big thoughts. Small thoughts. Complicated and incomplete thoughts. Stream of consciousness and careful thoughts.
And yes, every once in a while, maybe something brilliant.
Something changed a couple of years ago and I started writing in these beautiful books. I didn’t think it would happen, but I’ve filled them all. I just opened the last empty one and filled the first page. Heaven.
1. say you are going to write something.
2. organize your desktop to maximize your writing space.
3. tell everybody you’re going to go write something.
4. tweet about your preparations, preferably use #amwriting hashtag.
5. sharpen all your pencils. you don’t use pencils.
6. run a pot of coffee.
7. drink a pot of coffee.
8. talk about writing some more. this time with the jitters.
9. creep on your friends’ FB profiles.
10. write a really lame blog entry and call it a day.
another cup of coffee 