I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS and LIGHT-BULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.



Wednesday, March 19, 2014

I can do this



After a week away from my laptop because of a corrupted file, I am finally back. Sitting at my desk, thoughts at my fingertips sending Times New Roman to my screen, I am grateful for Mr. Fix It with the detailed mind. The clock still ticks and the desk is scattered with the detritus of writing attempts without order. Hitch is asleep in his bed, on his couch; he’s burrowed under a fleece blanket, mini D’s like to do that.  New Age music mists the room, making it seem fuller than it really is. I hear Hawkeye and Klinger downstairs, while Bob doses until it’s time to go to bed.  My mind floats among the familiar of my surroundings and drifts on the possibilities of words; it’s good to be back, really good.

Being without my computer for a week has taught me a very important thing: that I could learn another way, not only quickly but with a focused sense of purpose. I can do this, I said to myself over and over again, and I did. Adjusting to change does not come easily but figuring out a way, and running with it, makes me proud.

To post Apple-people, tapping on a screen the size of a deck of cards, or pressing zit sized buttons, is second nature; but not to me it is, not to me. I’m a finger in a hole and dial kind of woman. I grew up pounding on a Remington; shift, return, only to retype a whole God-damned page because ‘comprehend’ made more sense than ‘understand’.  I embraced the new way and loved it. I can do this, I said to myself over and over again, and I did.

So now I am back to my book, a memoir of columns and life and all the stuff in-between. The old columns are the serious nature of a much younger me, the new ones are like the lines on my face, some have softened edges, some are deep and most are just plain funny looking.

I can do this, I say to myself over and over again, and I will.

What do you say to yourself over and over again?

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