On Hold!
My life is on hold.
I look outside my window and notice the birds. They are making an absolute mess of my porch, but I don't care. No one is coming to visit anyway. Actually, I have bought the best seeds possible so they will come to dine with me.
Then I look around me inside of the house. I have everything I need; toilet paper, computer, internet, books, food, bananas, – and a wonderful husband to share my space.
After all these years – we still really like each other and look forward to our breakfasts, lunches and suppers together. Especially now, since Cliff has taken a shine to cooking!
If we do tire of each other - he can go to his studio - a three yard dash away. Sometimes I even dash away myself - I am now into clay as well.
But I am still mostly a writer.
This new world of physical distancing should be a writer’s dream - or so I tell myself – as I settle down at my desk. I have my own office; a huge monitor to work, from, a printer behind me, a bunch of staplers, racks of files and an array of post it notes on my wall.
And it is perfect timing. Before this all began, I had just finished my memoirs. What a nightmare of a project that was! I just couldn't seem to tell my own life story, It must have gone through at least five major rewrites as I drilled down for the real story of my life - the one I hadn't told anyone - even to myself.
Now that the book is finished and at the readers, I was thinking I was free to think about a new - more exciting project.
And then this happened.
Our world has simply shut down. The rules have all changed - and I am alone - isolated.
I should be creating, writing, and just humming along in this silent world of mine with no distractions.
But I ache for the world….I ache for my people.
I just ache – frozen in time.
it's a new kind of writers block... this aching.
“Stars are always dancing. Sometimes they dance twinkling away with the rhythm of your joyful heart and sometimes they dance without movement to embrace your heartache as if frozen sculptures of open-armed sadness.” - Munia Khan
I look outside my window and notice the birds. They are making an absolute mess of my porch, but I don't care. No one is coming to visit anyway. Actually, I have bought the best seeds possible so they will come to dine with me.
Then I look around me inside of the house. I have everything I need; toilet paper, computer, internet, books, food, bananas, – and a wonderful husband to share my space.
After all these years – we still really like each other and look forward to our breakfasts, lunches and suppers together. Especially now, since Cliff has taken a shine to cooking!
If we do tire of each other - he can go to his studio - a three yard dash away. Sometimes I even dash away myself - I am now into clay as well.
But I am still mostly a writer.
This new world of physical distancing should be a writer’s dream - or so I tell myself – as I settle down at my desk. I have my own office; a huge monitor to work, from, a printer behind me, a bunch of staplers, racks of files and an array of post it notes on my wall.
And it is perfect timing. Before this all began, I had just finished my memoirs. What a nightmare of a project that was! I just couldn't seem to tell my own life story, It must have gone through at least five major rewrites as I drilled down for the real story of my life - the one I hadn't told anyone - even to myself.
Now that the book is finished and at the readers, I was thinking I was free to think about a new - more exciting project.
And then this happened.
Our world has simply shut down. The rules have all changed - and I am alone - isolated.
I should be creating, writing, and just humming along in this silent world of mine with no distractions.
But I ache for the world….I ache for my people.
I just ache – frozen in time.
it's a new kind of writers block... this aching.
“Stars are always dancing. Sometimes they dance twinkling away with the rhythm of your joyful heart and sometimes they dance without movement to embrace your heartache as if frozen sculptures of open-armed sadness.” - Munia Khan
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