a writer
"There is within my own definition an incredulity about being a 'writer.' But truly, here I am with pen, paper, and thoughts communicated upon the page. I am a writer. That it was always this simple gives me glee. I know for some it remains paramount, but I feel that public recognition of this fact does not really matter at all. The catch? I really must write to be thusly defined - not 'have written' for then I WAS a writer - not 'will write' for then I am only ever always BECOMING a writer, one elusive day. Today I write, therefore...today I am a writer. Today is all that matters."
The above is an excerpt from my journal...written this morning while Clara banged her cheerio bowl on her high-chair tray. Ever since writing the blog post last week wherein I committed to myself to actually WORK on my writing projects (aside from correspondence, journaling, and blogging), I have really never felt so good about writing.
I've had only a few rules.
- Be gentle with myself.
- Set a timer for 30 minutes.
It's been fascinating to discover that the particular subject I'm writing about is a torrential downpour of thoughts and words. I hope to be finished with it in November.
It just feels good to be working.
In the meantime, I've been reading. Annie Dillard's "The Writing Life
" may very well be the best book I've read all year. It is so inspiring. Since I also committed to a "quite time" every morning (while Clara naps of course), I am reminded yet again of something I always told my students. When looking for inspiration to write, READ.
" may very well be the best book I've read all year. It is so inspiring. Since I also committed to a "quite time" every morning (while Clara naps of course), I am reminded yet again of something I always told my students. When looking for inspiration to write, READ.Although she does not outright claim this, I've deduced Dillard's formula for a writer, which is by no means complete, for I have yet to finish the book. Thus far a writer must have the following:
: physical exertion :
: a schedule :
I am good with the first and the last, now for a nightly Salsa class.
Maybe the saint can build me a dance studio.
Here's to work.
Here's to the writer.
Here's to homemade chicken pot pie for dinner,
Here's to homemade chicken pot pie for dinner,
7 comments:
I cant wait to read what you've been working on :)
I have so missed reading your blog. This post was pure magic.
Off to journal now . . .
xoxo
Oh, I don't want to sound presumptuous, but I feel so, so proud. So happy for you. So hopeful about the work you are doing. So inspired to continue on, myself.
Writing used to be something that I just did, it just happened, I never thought about it, just put pen to paper. In the last few days I have been reminded that it is something I should set time aside to do once again. At some point I stopped, because I figured what was the point? No one reads what I write but me?
I am just now realizing that for me, it isn't about anything more than writing for myself- for my soul and well being and comfort.
I love visiting your blog for so many reasons, but mostly when I read your posts I feel like I can see you typing them - I can feel the thought put into the words. That is special my friend :-)
- thinking it is time to invest in a new journal, and write for no reason but to write.
Jaime
PS - also thinking it has been too long since having chicken pot pie!
SR: Thanks for the vote of confidence!
Rosers: Le sigh. I often wonder if anyone notices at all, but thank you for saying so. Glad you found some ease and inspiration.
LD: The pride, sans presumption, goes both ways, my fellow scribe.
Jaime: What an amazing thing to say. I appreciate that you can see the intentionality...and see me doing it. It just feels, i don't know, intimate somehow.
p.s. the chx pot pie was not great...and for the 1.5 hours I spent on my feet, meh.
as is my experiences with pot pies - the anticipation and the promise is great, but the result not always... perhaps its all worth it for the gleeful staring into the oven and the first spoon?
Still, I love you.
And I'd happily eat a pot pie of your words any night, because they life strung eloquently, unashamedly, raw, beautiful - and good for the soul. Keep at it x
That physical exertion part is important. Everything gets screwed up if it's ignored......
Post a Comment