an examined life

I'm not sure why, but inspiration seems to fly out the window when Julie walks in the door. I just don't have time to sit and write, but, moreover, I don't have time to sit and think (or, more correctly, shower and think or walk and think, as discussed earlier) when Julie is home. That makes sense, I guess. One must be alone to be introspective.

Now, I prefer for Julie to be home. Don't misunderstand and think that I am longing for my long stretches of all-by-myself, navel-gazing time. But, the fact is, Julie doesn't live here anymore. She is an adult with a domicile, and a life, of her own. It's hard for me and for Ben when she leaves us, but we know she doesn't belong here, and wouldn't keep her if we could. Each of us has developed ways to deal with the fact that our little birds have flown the nest, as we always intended for them to do. I examine life as I find it around me, and try to make sense of it as best I can.

Socrates said the unexamined life is not worth living. That seems extreme, but Ben and I have for many years known a woman whom we feel lives an unexamined life, and it seems to us a very shallow existence. As in most things, I believe there is a balance that must be struck between actually living life and ruminating about it. That's what I'm trying to do here, folks. I hope you find it at least intermittently interesting.

when inspiration strikes

I never sing in the shower. Y'all know I have issues about singing. I do remember reciting the toast I wrote for Tom and Kristy's wedding over and over again in the shower, in hopes that I wouldn't have to read it from a sheet of paper. I sometimes cry in the shower, I have to admit. The water falls with my tears, but never washes away the pain, which is perhaps what I hope for. What I do really, really well in the shower is think. (What did you think I was going to say? My kids read this blog. Come on.) I'm serious, though, I do some of my best thinking in there. Sometimes I think so hard that I lose track of what I am doing. (Did I just put shampoo on my hair or was that conditioner? Crap!)

I find that I also do some good thinking when Rufus and I take walks together. The sun shines down on us, the wind blows, Rufus trots along like a champ (most of the time) and I ruminate. I start out thinking about how nice it is to see the sun shine again or when was the last time we saw that one dog who always runs down the hill, and pretty soon I've got half a blog post written in my head.

Do you see a common thread here? Yes, yes, it's when I'm alone, of course, but, also, it's when I can't get to my computer or even a pencil and paper. I'm writing and and re-writing and editing in my head without any possibility of saving my precious thoughts. I have to towel off quickly after stepping out of the shower, and hurry to my desk, with both dogs swirling around my feet, and Lucie pawing to be picked up as soon as I sit down. Or I come in from our walk, and have to make the dogs sit and lay down for their expected treats before I hurry down the hall to my room. If I'm lucky, I remember what I thought was profound or clever or urgent a few minutes earlier.

What I'm trying to say here is that I suffer for my art. This isn't as easy as it looks, folks. I hope you appreciate it.

morning musings

I almost think writer's block would be better than this. I have an idea I want to follow, and I wrote for most of the afternoon yesterday. But even as I was writing, I was thinking, this is such crap. I kept telling myself, just keep on writing, just get it out, worry about it later, but it did not improve. I have not looked at it yet this morning, maybe because it is just too early in the day to be disillusioned, but I will have to re-read it at some point.

It is a beautiful summer morning, however, so perhaps I will save that for later. I'm pretty sure I can talk Jules into going to Aurora Farms with me for a few hours - since she loves to go there. Tomorrow is Andrew's birthday, so we are taking him out to dinner tonight. We are going to Wasabi, a Japanese restaurant in Montrose that has some of the best sushi around. The link is here: http://www.restaurantwasabi.com/ (Sorry, I don't know how to make it look all pretty yet.) I plan to call and make a reservation later for one of the tatami rooms off the sushi bar. Every time we go there, we say, wouldn't that be fun, so Andrew's birthday seems like the perfect occasion.

Now, I need to go out and enjoy the day.

a quandry of sorts

Well, I have been writing, in case you wondered, writing like mad. My fingers can barely keep up with the thoughts that tumble from my mind. I only realize how much time has passed by the stiffness in my neck and back when I pause to let the dogs out. There's a problem, though, and this is it. No one can ever read the words that have spilled from me. Trust me. They are too private, too intensely personal to ever share with anyone else. I know this, and yet I keep writing. I want to keep writing. It feels like I need to keep writing. The pleasure I derive from this writing is deep and satisfying.

So, here is my question. This must happen to other people all the time. What do they do with these very private thoughts once they have poured them out? Is it just some sort of blockage that needs to come out first before I can write anything else? Or do these dreams and longings form the foundation on which a fictional character is built? If that is the case, won't everyone know that its me there on the page? Or is that the point of it all?

program of study

I have always felt that the answer to every question I have ever had lies within the pages of a book somewhere, and that it is just a matter of finding the right book to have all my questions answered. With that thought in mind, I headed to my local public library to learn "how to write good". Here is the first armload of books I brought home:

On Writing Well by William Zinsser

The Art of Fiction by John Gardner

How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead by Ariel Gore

An Editor's Advice to Writers by Betsy Lerner

Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise De Salvo

Writing to Change to World by Mary Pipher

If you have any recommendations of books that have helped/inspired you to become a better writer, please pass them along to me. I thank you.

(I should perhaps mention that I already own copies of On Writing by Stephen King and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.)