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.



Thursday, July 13, 2017

Dead eye word count

I realized this morning how odd it is to not have a deadline.


Few words mean much.
In my life I have never liked deadlines, never liked anything hanging over my head, weighting down my shoulders, always there and waiting. For now, coming up with a new column, something fresh, something which I consider universal enough to share with readers, is off the table.
I will admit:
I
Am
Relieved.
To singularly focus on a project, to fine tune the tunable, to dead eye the result, is inspiring.
I had to give up something, to get something. Isn't that always the way, especially when we write.

So I ask my few faithful friends, what do/did you have to give up in order to make your word count?



4 comments:

  1. That's a hard question. It seems I'm giving up a little bit of something every day. If I expand that view of what I've given up, I'd say time with the grands. (I hear you gasping)

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  2. Sleep and relaxation time.

    But it's a battle I wage daily because my Barbarians are still at school, so I struggle with guilt if I take the time to write when I feel I should be being Mum.

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  3. It’s a tough time when crumb pickers are a factor. I stepped back, when we were in the thick of school stuff. (No regrets) I figured I wanted to spend time with them, rather than in a room (alone) writing about them. Now they’re gone and all those experiences are grist and memories and tickets to being a member of the decent mom’s club. My branch of the club is called “flawed,” I’m the President.
    Each of us has to do what we must to be a worthy parent and happy human being. If you feel like being a Mum, do it. If everything falls apart...that’s life.
    Now it’s grandkids. Oh boy, here we go again, sort of.

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