Gotcha! Ever since I completed and published my first book, my wheels have been slipping and sliding through a vast expanse of mud. I’m blessed to have choices. My mind, in its perpetual state of motion, flits from one thought to the next like a prize-winning contestant grabbing dollar bills from the air. Each day I ask myself the same question…what should I do next? Each day the answer is different. Each day I struggle to decide.
In the last several months I’ve come to realize my time to finish what I want to do grows shorter. And though I’m on the downside of my time on Earth, I don’t want to leave with so many of my “songs” inside of me.** But the choices pose an interesting roadblock. It’s inaccurate to call it a writer’s block. I think of it more as a decision block.
My files contain hundreds of hand-written pages. Some include poetry, some include vast chapters of fiction, some include family history. With the exception of the poetry, most are unfinished. The digital files in my computer reveal snippets of memoir and more fiction. And, yet, my head still holds an almost endless stream of ideas.
Do I have time? It is not my question to answer. I do my best to keep juggling. There are days when I’m successful but there are days when the balls drop. Each day I pick them up and get them going again. The outcome of the daily juggling is not always mine to control. And though I ask myself the same daily question, I do not get the same answer.
This I know for certain. I must write. It’s as essential to me as breathing. Most days this one thought travels through my conscious thought…”The desire to write was planted within you for a reason.” Hmmm, ok. I get it. But, why?
My beloved Ray Bradbury says, “Your intuition knows what to write, so get out of the way.” I feel this one to my core and, yet, the fear of reality is strong. Hemingway tells me, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” Am I ready to go there? Maybe not. Stephen King posits, “Fiction is the truth inside the lie.” I could go on. Don’t worry, I won’t.
Today I’m following Anne Lamott’s advice…”You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
For today, I have chosen to soar. To sustain me, the lyrics of a Lynyrd Skynyrd classic, “If I leave here tomorrow/will you still remember me?”
**N.B. Please don’t make assumptions from my words. Mortality is an issue many of us ponder as we age. I’m not planning on going anywhere soon, but that’s controlled by a Higher Power.
Stories Are For Eternity 