Although it’s getting close to Valentine’s Day, this is not about
romantic jealousy -- although I could, of course, write at length about my
history with the green-eyed monster. Another day, perhaps.
This burst of thought was actually brought on by watching my
Twitter timeline roll merrily by, and the hundreds of writers I follow. I
read their cheerful postings of brilliant blog entries, novels available on
Amazon, kudos from their fellow writers, and the ubiquitous hastag of #amwriting,
with a mixture of emotions.
The first, I’m glad to say, is respect for their work. Then,
there’s a general feeling of pride in the writing process. But creeping
in hard on the heels of those noble reactions are jealousy, envy, and wishing I
were living in what I perceive to be their much more disciplined and verdant
pastures. (Random observation: Isn’t it interesting that jealousy is characterized as
“green,” which is also the color of the other person’s grass?)
I don’t suffer from writer’s block. Far from it, actually.
At any given time, my brain is buzzing with at least ten things I’d like
to write about, not to mention the unfinished novel that has left all the
characters in truly dire straits and in desperate need of rescue.
Lately, I’m afraid it’s as simple as writer’s laziness. I
can hear my childish voice saying:” I want to play…”
What I should do is:
1) Write this blog entry
2) Write another chapter of “Grace’s Heart” and save those poor
people
3) Get further on the transcription of my two grandmothers’
journals before the fragile little books disintegrate
4) If “none of the above,” then at least give a much-needed vacuum
to the living room.
What I want to do is:
1) Watch another endlessly “Quite Interesting” and gloriously
funny episode of Stephen Fry’s “QI” television series
2) Play a game of “Risk” on pogo.com, and subsequently take over
the world
3) Click every link that Twitter has to offer, which always leads
me on a lovely, labyrinthine path through quirky news items, New Yorker
cartoons, and YouTube videos
4) If “none of the above,” then get my car washed, stop off at the
store to buy the Fritos I’ve promised to bring to the Super Bowl Party we’re
attending later, and breathe in one of the sparkling, icy mornings I love so
much.
We have a phrase in this family, and I would be told right now
that I’m “shoulding
all over myself.” The words “I should write” run through my head more often
than I care to admit. The truth of the matter is that “I love to write”
is a sentiment that's always there.
So, I forgive myself the desire to loll aimlessly on a
Sunday. I try to remember that I give fifty hours a week to commuting and
working, a few hours more than that to sleeping, and from the rest must be
found time for a dear husband and busy family, chats on the phone or in emails
with precious friends, a little learning and growing, a lot of laughing, a
scratch behind the ear and change of water bowl for the cats, and the various
minutiae of daily life.
And yes, also to taking over the world in a game of “Risk,” and
breathing in the beauty of an Idaho morning…
…and writing.
~~~~~
