For you, this Monday, thanks to the Blog-Me-Maybe BlogFest request for writing about… writing: a fanciful tale from a writer/writing teacher/in this moment creatively blocked individual seeking words, words, more words upon the page.
I have been under siege this week. Arguing with my beloved, kid schlepping, needing to do the this-and-that and everything-else-in-between. I am tired, flat out tired. I find my butt in the writing seat and I sit here, fingers sort of poised but nothing is coming off the end of them.
This is one of those curses of calling oneself a writing teacher: you are no longer allowed, by the Writing Teacher Police, to sit quietly and say nothing.
If I were Julia Cameron, I would start with the weather outside my window:
It was like countless other May days in Bakersfield: blue skies, no clouds in sight, and the air filled with the tangy scent of fallen mulberries.
This morning the black birds were playing tug of war with one of the berries. This ubiquitous purple fruit is everywhere during these few weeks of harvest and there are too many to count. Which black bird will be smart enough to let go of the berry and wander over to the other patch of lawn overflowing in berries. Which one of you fellow fighters are willing to fly up to that tree limb, also overflowing with berries?
I spoke to my friend on the phone about it since we have stopped fighting and he said, “We are in the midst of a senior citizen conversation. You do recognize that, don’t you?”
My very grey roots would agree with him. Note to self: wear a hat to the hair stylist salon today. I don’t want her to see two months outgrowth. It would be well, in a couple hours it will be embarrassing.
Suddenly I notice I am writing.
The words are floating from my fingers to the page all because I looked out the window and told the page what I saw. And just as easily as I started to seem even slightly on track with my writing, I tumbled down the slope of inattention.
Yesterday I had a conversation with Samuel’s teacher. I was breaking the law as I phoned her: “Oh, wow, an egret just flew past as you answered…. Oh, wow.” And then a silent beat before I said, “Do you know what an egret is?”
She didn’t. My mind raced to this memory rather than to how I overcame the block. As often happens, my passion became the one who diverts my writing flow. I googled and got lost in bird sites and then lost in facebook and then lost in wanting to know more and share more and then I thought, “Couchsurfing!” so I wander over there to check for messages concerning my search for a couch….and came back.
Each time I forgave myself my inattention and congratulated myself for getting words, any number of words, up on the screen.
I remind myself this: it is the reality of how positive it is to keep my butt in this seat even dribbling out words than getting out of my seat and giving up.
If I didn’t make it here, I could go to my favorite coffee place or to my front porch or snuggle up beside the river with a notebook in hand. Most important is giving words a context to flow within or slowly, in slug-like form, drip onto the lines, letter by weary letter.
My deep and all abiding word-love calls me to write, above all, just write.
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She teaches a teleclass/ecourse "Discover the Power of Writing & Telling Engaging, Enlightening Stories" which begins again April 24, 2012. Find details by clicking this link.
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