The beginning of the new year brought me writer’s angst, flashes of hope here and there, and news of a very busy work schedule.
For those of you who don’t know, I’m a Sign Language Interpreter in real life. One of the challenges in my line of work is that I can’t interpret what I don’t know. That means, for the next several months, my brain will be steeped in outside reading materials to help carry me through my schedule. What that doesn’t mean is a full stop on writing.
I am, however, taking a brief hiatus from my Wednesday’s Word of the Day challenge.
I love that writing exercise (and maybe I’ll jump back into it sooner than I anticipate), but I also love my day job…for obvious reasons (that monthly paycheck and, oh yeah, health insurance). So, here’s where you come in. You keep this blog alive just by reading, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on what types of posts will keep you coming back :
I can’t make you take the poll, but it is anonymous. And, even if you say “Thank god for the hiatus,” I’ll still love you.
It’s Wednesday’s Word, and you know what that means: write something – an essay, poem, or flash fiction – based on Wordsmith.org’s word of the day and post it by midnight. Past pieces from this fun writing exercise can be found under Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar to the right.
A New Year generally brings a fresh start, a positive outlook, a host of promises to do better, be better, feel better. But, for me, just days after the festivities ended, I hit a wall.
from www.MeetSusanDavis.com
It wasn’t writer’s block as much as it was the feeling of writer’s plateau.
This thing isn’t really going anywhere, I thought. “This thing” being that one story still sitting in someone’s slushpile, that novel I’m trying to write, and bla bla bla. I bet you know the drill.
No writer should sit in that place too long. As writers, we often hear we should write for our readers. But some days, we have to write for ourselves. Thankfully, it’s Wednesday and time for my biweekly tête-à-tête with Wordsmith.org. If I didn’t commit to do this thing every other week (for my own darn good), I’d still be sitting in that cesspool of doubt, trusting a shiny quarter to decide my fate:
Heads I quit, tails I don’t quit. Three out of five. Okay, five out of seven. Fine, seven out of ten.
Never trust a quarter. Besides, I don’t really want to quit. I just want to move forward. And, the best way to do that is to write.
Today’s word:
primrose path. noun. A path of least resistance, especially one that ends in disaster.
As they say on Twitter, #amwriting now.
*****
Steady, Girl
Peter poured the coffee and handed a cup to his wife, Sharon. “Quitting would be easy,” he said, “but then what would you do?”
“I’d go back to knitting dishrags and Yoga every morning and reasonable bedtimes,” Sharon said with a huff.
“Okay. But, you’d be depressed within the month.” Peter kissed her forehead and picked up his briefcase for work.
“I’m already depressed,” she said.
“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” he told her, and he promised to check in on her at lunch. Then, he shut the door. Sharon shuffled back to where her laptop waited in sleep mode.
She drummed her fingers on the desk.
She jiggled her mouse. The screen lit up, but her muse didn’t.
She studied the pattern of the glaze on her coffee cup, the one she bought from that little pottery shop in Pueblo years ago.
“My new mojo!” She’d told the Potter, as she handed him twenty dollars.
“Big enough to hold three cups of coffee in one, and sturdy enough to work you through a dozen bestsellers,” he’d said when he’d given her the change.
She’d read more than a dozen bestsellers since then, but she hadn’t written one. She stared out the window next to her desk and watched a brown spider weave a whole web in the corner — one short length of silk at a time.
If only it were that easy, Sharon thought, to start at the beginning, jump to the end, and then fill in the middle. “Spiders never get writer’s block,” she mumbled, and she tapped on the window. The spider scurried to the side of the pane. It bobbed and then folded into a small hole in the wood.
Sharon sighed and wrapped her hand around her cup. As she tipped it to take a drink, she noticed a line across the rim. She held the cup away from her to get a better look.
Yes, she thought, a crack. A hairline fracture, really, but still!
“Ha!” She told the spider, who had ventured back out of the hole but had not yet crossed her web. “No wonder!”
She poured out the coffee and tossed the cup into the recycling. She rifled through the cabinet for a clean cup – a plain one without the distraction of glazing or a logo. She put on a fresh pot of coffee. Her mind whirled, her fingers tingled.
Something was definitely brewing. *
~
* I’m not sure what this story has to do with primrose path, so much, but there you are, anyway. And, I think I feel better.
It’s Wednesday’s Word, and you know what that means: write something – an essay, poem, or flash fiction – based on Wordsmith.org’s word of the day and post it by midnight. Past results from this fun writing exercise can be found under Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar to the right.
~
What day is it?
Last year around this time, I was feeling just as dazed and distracted.
Lists upon lists don’t help. A pressing deadline called Christmas adds to my anxiety. And, writing time gets lost in the mix.
But hey, it’s Wednesday.
And, because I have a house to clean, groceries to buy, cookies to bake, and kids to wrestle away from the presents, let’s get right down to it.
Today’s word:
divagate. verb. To wander or digress.
Wandering in circles. Yes, that’s been me lately. Too much coffee, too little time.
*****
Celia Loves
Celia only had three things left on her list: a book on wolves for her nephew, wild animal that he was; a cookbook for her sister, Paula Deen’s latest convert; and a gift card for her brother, who never latched on to anything — not even a wife.
She wandered past the Bestsellers and paused at the New in Fiction. She thumbed through calendars and flipped through quote books. She was drawn to the display of journals and pens, unable to resist the feel of fine paper between her fingers and the weight of a good pen.
It was the Carol of the Bells that pulled her back to her list. From the shelves of the Young Adult section, she grabbed an old classic, Wolfling. In the cookbook section, she reached for Paula Deen’s It Ain’t All About the Cookin’, Celia agreed, behind every recipe is a good story. Then, Celia went back and picked up a small book of quotes she’d been reading before.
She paid for the books, the gift card, and a pen for herself. She sat down in her car and wrote inside each cover.
To Dylan. Dear Lover of wolves, You’ll find plenty of facts about habitats and behavior in other books, but the real learning is hidden in stories. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said it best: “The love of leaning, the sequestered nooks, and all the sweet serenity of books.”
To Mary. Miguel de Cervantes in Don Quixote said “All sorrows are less with bread” – or, if you’re Paula Deen, a red velvet cake.
To Jim. You’re a man of mystery, impossible to buy for, and you work too much. Annie Dillard offers wise advice: “Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.” I love you.
Celia put the cap on her new pen and slipped it inside her purse. She started her car and turned up the music.
know. That means, for the next several months, my brain will be steeped in outside reading materials to help carry me through my schedule. What that doesn’t mean is a full stop on writing.
