Monday, March 22, 2010

Writing Time

It's just after 2:30 p.m. here in Northern California. Typically this time of day I'm rushing along with the afternoon traffic to fetch my daughter from school. But today, I don't have to do that. She's joined the track team and today is her first day of practice and her first chosen opportunity to participate in an organized sport. Don't get me wrong, she's an active girl and loves being outside kicking, catching, bouncing, running and celebrating the body she has been blessed with. She just hasn't had the desire--or courage--to join an organized team. Whenever I would ask her why she didn't want to join a soccer or basketball team she would always explain that she was afraid of getting knocked down. She is rather small for her age; timid, shy, and always wanting everyone else to be happy so she is often overlooked or nudged out of the way. I used to tease her and tell her that I could start knocking her down so she could practice getting back up but that idea never appealed to her. In any case, with that being the said, she has been more attracted to individual sports such as tennis and running. I'm very proud of her for giving the track team a try.

As I have found myself with an extra hour-and-a-half, I'm choosing to take this time to write. I broke out my writing folder the other night, buried deep in the bottom of my writing bag and shuffled through the many stories I had begun writing several years ago when I decided to pick up m' pen and paper again. I found myself asking, Now where was I? Slowly the words began to resurface and I am setting an intention to choose one, just one, to begin editing.

At this moment I am sitting on the patio, at the recently cleaned patio table, a light breeze flowing through the trees, whipping our yard flags back and forth as I relax with my net book and fresh cuppa java. The temperature is mild, below 70, but the sun feels warm behind me as it embraces my shoulders. I relish this time of day as our neighbor right next door is at work instead of blasting away his music; practicing with his band. The only sounds I hear are leaves skating across the concrete, birds chirping from various trees in the neighborhood, the occasional car passing by and a plane flying over, a singular wind chime clanging behind me and the faint whispers of someone using a hammer down the street and around the corner.

This morning I discovered a new blog; The Perceptive Woman. I discovered the blog and author via Twitter. This morning her entry was about her validity as a writer. Oddly, I have been thinking about the same thing. I am a writer.

no yer not.

But I am. I am a writer. I didn't say I am a blockbusting writer. I didn't even say that I am a good writer. I didn't say that all I am is a writer. I didn't say I want to be a novel writer. But I am a writer. A writer writes. I write. While I haven't been entirely consistent with my writing, and while I often wonder if my writing is getting any better, I am a writer.

who ya' trying to convince? me or you?

Okay, you're not being very supportive here.

I usually do not have conversations with my other self, but lately I've been using her a lot in my writing. I haven't used her because I typically do not argue with her or respond to her. I usually duck and run. I usually accept what she says is valid; is truth. Lately, however, I am in need of shutting her up and I think, somehow, to shut her up I have to let her be heard. I hear her all of the time. I have given her huge amounts of control over my life. I've never given her an actual voice though. To see her words is strangely hilarious for me. Somehow quieting her as I laugh at the crap she spews out. So I let her spew. I let her out because I feel if I don't, she'll never go away. And, maybe she won't ever go completely away, but it's been nice to see her quiet down as I expose her to the rest of the world and open myself up to the wisdom and inspiration of others. To know that others experience fear and doubt yet somehow manage to find a way to dislodge the clog touches me and nudges me and inspires me to look for small opportunities to flow forward myself.

I have not yet set a specific writing goal, in words or time. I am proud to see that I have managed to scribble out something for this blog, and for Kreative Notions, at least once a week for the past month. For me...that is progress. I set an intention and I have manifested it.

Now I'm off to manifest my next intention...dinner.

joY & gratitude,
Syda

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