My mom called me today. One of my uncles recently celebrated his 90th birthday. I loved my mom’s version of the party. After our conversation, I pictured the scene and drew out the memories of my uncles and cousins. Home.
This post was buried in the archives. It’s back in case you haven’t read it.
I visited my hometown, a place I haven’t seen in years, to attend a wedding. A day before the wedding, my feelings of nostalgia led me to the old neighborhood where I grew up. How differerent it looked from the days of my youth! It took days to untangle my emotions and wrap them up in words.
Here’s what I told myself:
What did you expect? When you walked away thirty years ago, did you think you were the only one who would leave? You thought home would always be there, didn’t you? Well, things change.
Where you once lived, the new owners have installed wrought iron stairs leading to your old room on the second floor. At the top of the stairs is a door instead of a window. Two familites live there now.
As you walk the streets of your childhood memories, you notice the sidewalks where you learned to ride a…
First, you get an idea. It is bright and shiny like a quarter in a corner, and you run over and pick it up and gloat quietly in your head that you were the one who found it. You subsequently remember that there are lots of ideas out there that other people have picked up and will pick up, some of which look and sound an awful lot like the one you have in your hand. Damn that Collective Unconscious thingamajig!
Still, you like your idea. It excites you, so you keep it around, like a pygmy puff (Harry Potter reference – think a less reproductive tribble). It sits on your shoulder and occasionally reminds you that it’s there. It’s comfortable, and as the idea grows and develops into something more concrete, you start to get that persistent poke at the back of your brain that you need to put…
I would never post anything my kids shouldn’t read. In fact, my writer’s soul wants them to read my posts. I want to share my words with them like I did every day when they were little. Now that they’ve grown, that desire persists.
“Thelma, did you read my post today?”
She chortles. “I didn’t have time today, sorry.”
“Sandy, what did you think of the post today?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t read it. Yet. I’ll read it later. I promise.”
“Marie, did you like my post today?”
I shrug off their indifference. I stop asking. You see, it doesn’t matter whether they read it or not, the story is alive. Permanently.
Today, the phone rings.
“Mom, I called to tell you I laughed when I read your blog story.”
And that, my friends, is why I write.
Thanks for stopping by! And keep your stories alive.
Just when I think I’m a goose feather in the wind, I wake up and discover that I’ve become the down in someone’s pillow. I have no idea how this happens, but somehow my writing drifts in the wind and lands on somebody’s head. Luckily, it’s light as a feather.
Thanks to Vikki for nominating me for the Illuminating Blogger Award. I enjoy visiting her blog and her perspective on writing.
The rules for acceptance are:
1. Visit and thank the blogger who nominated you
2. Acknowledge that blogger on your blog and link back
3. Share a random thing about yourself
4. Select five or more nominees and notify them on their blogs.
Copy and paste the award on your blog somewhere.
Here’s my random thing: Once I taught mathematics to students in a psychiatric hospital.
Please visit these worthy blogs for inspiration and enlightenment:
I wonder if I’ll ever just write a post and forget about it. Will I ever stop looking at the numbers? Will my heart stop skipping beats whenever the comment tag flashes? This blogging thing had infiltrated my brain wirelessly, silently, invisibly. Deadly. I spend more time writing my blog and watching my stats than I do writing my wip. Bad.
And don’t mention the reader aspect. I love to read other writers’ blogs! I have books, real books, which are gathering dust on my nightstand, but the fascinating work of on-line writers is too compelling. So I thought… What if I stopped for a week? What if I tore myself away from the internet? Would I wither away and die? Would I collapse? Would I fall into a crevasse? I can’t imagine the unthinkable. How would I navigate the new world of writing?
I took the test and I’m 74% addicted. It’s time to take action! So I tell myself to get faster at writing. Multitask. For today, my laptop is open for me to work on my wip and my desktop is open to my stat page. I’m going to chart my progress.
Have you ever considered infusing your novel or short story with a splash of poetry? I’m mostly a prose writer, but the value of dropping a poem in your prose cannot be underestimated (think Hunger Games). A poem can break up the visual monotony of paragraphs and thread a recurring theme.
Yesterday I spent most of my blog time visiting other writers’ blogs and making comments (what fun!). In the process, I discovered a writer of uncommon talent. Her many modes of artistic expression include art, photography, and poetry. I was particularly moved by her poems. Her poetry resounds with raw rectitude. Rousing and provocative, her verse wraps the reader in layers of meaning that break and reshape into loops of creative thought. Stimulating! Check her out at Perle’s Ink.
Drawing inspiration from my feedback tour, I’m posting a poem about writers.
How important is feedback? If you’re a teacher, you know that feedback is on the short list of factors that increase student achievement. If you’re a writer, sometimes feedback is like ants on a picnic blanket, something to shake off. Let’s be honest; we need feedback just as much as students do.
For me, feedback is an ‘A’ written on the top margin, something to tack on the fridge. It means a reader had responded to my words. Yippee!
For the fun of it, today I’ll spend my blog time making comments on other writers’ blogs. It’ll feel like old times as I don my teacher hat and dole out some old fashion feedback.
If you’re a writer not concerned about earning money, you’re a true artist. Who cares if anyone buys you’re creative works? You do it because you love it. When you write, you don’t think about life’s minutia.
In truth, there’s a gnawing inside your brain. You hear the hamsters chewing the cage bars. When you’re writing, you’re the hamster on the wheel. Where are you going? Like the hamster, you don’t care. You’re moving. You’re writing. The wheel is spinning. It’s fun.
For decades you paid your own way doing something else. Now, you don’t even see the bills coming in. Someone else is funding your fun. You’re the gnawing hamster, chewing into your guilt. The fact that someone else enjoys supporting your endeavor doesn’t stop the gnawing.
You put it out of your mind. It’s easy when you’re writing.
Your writing time ends at five when the expectation is family time. Writing is your job, you’re not getting paid, and your happiness is diminished a little. You’ve been spinning along with the planet for hours. All you’ve gained are pounds on your derrière and black marks on a white background. Right now, no one is asking how much money you made today. Are you the only one concerned? You tell yourself that you’re too selfish, too self-absorbed, and too self-indulgent. Your valuable brain time is being wasted seeking justification, affirmation. Stop it!
Go ahead – chase your dreams. You’re not getting any younger. Write on!