There are days when words to write are scarce, simply not there from my point of view.
But you’re writing right now, I hear you say, how can there be no words?
For the literary alchemy to be correct (for me) there has to be some sort of ‘connection’ in the very depth of my words, significant reasons for them to fundamentally exist.
Today’s writing feels like an exercise in ineffectuality when in essence it is all about personal perseverance…I think.
I’ve read enough writing books to know that words will never come if you’re not holding a writing instrument of some type and actually writing.
Sounds simplistic but writers have numerous ways of putting off the muse.
I’ve done it.
So have you (if you’re a writer).
This is my pen and these are my thoughts;
For the past two Christmases, I’ve received a personalized writing journal from my like-minded daughter, Jenna.
In temperament and mood, we are two peas in a pod. Kinda scary…
I can’t for the life of me put my finger on why her gift moved me so, it just did.
I got choked up this year as I did last year and I’m sure my daughters all think I’m going psycho or something. (Dad’s freaking out again)
Oddly enough, I’ve yet to write in either journal.
Strange, huh? It’s like I’m saving them for a rainy day or something.
Aren’t my words special enough and uniquely me?
Are they worthy of taking up residence on the many waiting blank pages?
I’ve decided to place my writing bravado on the shelf (where it belongs) and do what all good writers do: write.
Sounds simple, but God, it’s really not.
(Writers, you understand, don’t you?)
It’s contemplating the act itself that sometimes leaves me feeling inept.
In the words of Natalie Goldberg, it’s just my monkey mind. (my internal censor truly believes that nothing I write is good enough)
Maybe I began writing tonight because I just wanted to thank my three daughters for gifts that were anything but ordinary and showed me how much they love to make me happy; and God, how they always do.
One more important note—Happy Birthday, Sarah.
You have reached a milestone.
You are no longer a teenager. (yikes)
Good luck in the ER but be prepared for some bumpy emotional terrain.
You can handle it, I’m sure.
And thanks for the new shamrock ‘dreamhat’.
Lord only knows, your dear old Dad needs it. . .