Why would anyone?

As I drove him to school this morning

Cheese-"Why would anyone want to be a writer? All you do is sit alone and type all day."

Me- "Well there is also research, online, and in libraries, and with people, and oh, sometimes you get to go to different places to research the places".

I could see this wasn't making it sound any better to him, so I added "And some people just have stories inside of them, and feel like they need to find some way to get them out"

I meant for this to sound sort of magical and stuff, but after reflection realize it sounded more like writing is a sort of illness, where by one is infected, invaded, with story like ideas, and must find some way of extracting them, so they can be free and feel right again. And yeah sitting alone at a typewriter or notepad for hours, is the prescription for cure.

So anyway, this the question of my day, 'why would anyone want to be a writer', as set forth to me, by the 11 year old. Yeah I have thought about it before, but based on my inability to make it sound pleasing to him, I wonder if I shouldn't set forth for myself a more engaging answer.

Why have I decided that the ideal way for me to spend my time, year in, and year out, would be alone, reading, and researching, and spending hours at a time sitting in front of a computer screen, struggling with words, and ideas?

Usually when thinking of this question, I focus on the end, of the feeling after, of having created something, but today I am thinking of the process, of a life of days, one after the other, of sitting alone typing. And I am asking myself, how do I feel about that?

dis of the day (so far)

I find children are not good for one's self esteem. Before having a child, I thought they did things like, think their parents were smart, funny, attractive, with-it people. And that they offered up hugs, and "I love you"s willingly. By the time my son was 3, I knew this wasn't the case.

I just got back from picking him up at school. He steps into the car with "You really have to stop doing that!". I ask "what?" thinking, he thinks I am in the wrong lane or something. He says "You look like a little old man who is going blind, with those dark glasses and your frizzy hair".
:(
Oh come on now, how many little old half blind men, have long frizzy hair!

The good news, the sun came out causing the need for the sunglasses.

Today is the sort of day


when I find I am asking myself "Why do I live in the northeast?"
cold, wet, windy, grey, barren looking.
And today is the sort of day when I can provide no sufficient answer to that question.
I was born here, is all I can come up with at the moment, and really, as I have legs for walking, and a car for driving (and a bike too if it comes to that), that reason doesn't seem quite good enough.

Just went and got wreath off of door, as wind was intending to carry it off, and leave it as a gift in some neighbor's yard.

oh well, back to writing

I have been working with something like a step outline, but for the current section I am working on, there isn't much down already, so I feel uneasy as each word, each idea, feels new and untested. I know what is over the hill and down the lane, I know what to expect when I will be at that place several (thousand) Wednesdays from now, but I don't know what is around the very next corner. There is a lot of uncharted territory between today and that day, and my map seems horribly vague. I know a lot of you like that, being explorers, the excitement of discovery, the unknown. But I like my map. I like knowing where the gas stations, lodging, and restaurants are. I like knowing what sort of views and activities to expect. I still find plenty of spontaneous moments, and discovery, tucked into my framework. Plus my framework style is to wait, till I am told, so instead of tedious plotting, it is more just waiting as/till unexpected scenes and sections fall into my lap. And then when I have enough of them, I lay them end to end, and feel I have a story beginning to end. But of course I am not told everything, no some of it I have to work out, figure out, for myself, and that is when I get nervous, that is when I have to go off map, and have no idea what I am doing, and it feels like I may just be making things up. And what if I am making the wrong things up? Face to face with thousands of decisions needing to be made, I cower in uncertainty.

That said

I am surprised to be finding out that I am much calmer when making the attempt, than I am when avoiding it.
So that is helpful. I have to just keep telling myself that, reminding myself that, that is true.

No new post, but I did add 1,000 words to Echo
Worked on a section I have been really struggling with, so hopefully I moved forward enough to be less stuck, when next I attempt to take a step. (which really should be tomorrow)

Shift!

the sun must be out
for I feel it inside me
laughing

I smell spring
though it is far away
I feel the certainty of it

my slumbering mass
stirs
rises to peer out the window
"open the windows"
it says
I say "no, it is too cold"
"open the windows
open the windows
open the windows!"
"No"
"open one window.
stand still and breathe it in.
Open the window!"

just found an odd bit of faded paper

in my desk drawer (while I was searching for a kneaded eraser, which I did not find)
it seems to be a bit of a pep-talk for writing
as like my garden plants, my writing seems buried and still, tucked down below the surface of cold winter, I thought I might offer these words up to myself, like a heat lamp, see if I can get anything to grow.

someone is waiting
feeling shattered
they need new eyes
for seeing
for healing
for feeling
give
words
that can touch

create

make the
little delicate creature
with wings
bigger
so she can give
strength to
another


(this may seem bold, but at any rate. I am waiting)

I'm a little bit nervous about going to sleep.

Last night that lovely hallucination thingy happened again. I wasn't on my left side, so I was following my personal rules to try and prevent this from occurring. Instead of standing leaning over my bed, the image, male, in pale almost white tones, was right in front/above me. No farther away then 10 inches. Scared the H out of me. It actually felt like a big rubber band had been snapped against my chest/heart. I don't know if the pain was part of the hallucination or caused by my fear. I sat in bed, thinking my God, that saying 'scared to death' might be true, as I tried to catch my breath, and my heart pounded away. I am nervous and annoyed over it. I don't have a strategy to prevent this one. I hope this type doesn't become a repeater. I am not, of course a child, I am not afraid of the image itself, not now anyway, not the fully awake me, but I am afraid of the impression that any such image will make on a half asleep me. I am afraid of the fear itself. In dreams, sometimes you think "oh this is a dream", but more often, most often, no matter what happens, how off the wall, you just sort of go with it and accept it as true, while you are there, you live in that world, and respond as though it were real.

As if to try and make up for that episode early last night, the universe, or my subconscious/unconscious, gave me a nice guest star to my early morning dreams, Anderson Cooper. I never managed to pull his image into my dreams before, even when I used to have a mad crush on him, so it was nice to see him. Circumstances were a bit pathetic though. Anyway, long story short, Anderson was sitting on the floor, and I came up and sat behind him, somehow managing to offer myself up, as a makeshift reclining chair/cushion. I didn't think he would go for this, but he didn't care/mind. There was no more interaction than if I had been an actual chair (no eye contact, no words), but um...apparently that was enough to please me. To be clear, in my real life, I don't go around offering myself up as a chair to people, no matter who they are....well...when my son was little I certainly at times functioned as such for him....and of course there is the cat, who clearly feels that besides feeding him, this is a required function of all people in the house, to be a heated cushion/sofa/bed for him, but I mean other than that.

Even though, sad to admit, that was the best dream I ever had about any crush. Still if the hallucination thingy is the price I have to pay, then forget it. Andy can find and use an actual chair, or sit on the floor sans support for his back.

okay now I am really really really tired. And also a bit embarrassed which should help keep fear at bay.

goodnight

by the bye,
doodle very bad I know, but I think that is funny