February 1, 2010
I Want to Write
It is my dream to write. If you are an American Idol fan, you have no doubt watched the auditions, wherein seriously delusional singing wannabes make complete fools of themselves by opening their mouths in front of the judges. The sounds that pour forth are but a mockery of the music they purport to represent. These poor souls truly believe they can sing and are devastated when they are told that, no, they really cannot sing, and will not be going on to the next round.
This, I fear, is how my writing skills are perceived. I would love nothing more than to become a composer of the English language whose skills leave an audience breathless with anticipation for works yet to come. I dream of my name belonging in the same ranks as Hemingway, Capote, Dickinson, and Steinbeck. My novels would be among those of required reading by educational institutions, and my literary contributions would be revered as works of unparalleled genius.
Are you laughing yet? Yes, well, it is to be expected. For, really, what do I have to contribute to this world? I sit down with the best of intentions, thinking that this will be the day when, at the moment my fingertips touch the keyboard, I will be transported into a creative trance, and the words will pour forth onto the page of their own accord. At some point, I will awaken to find that nothing short of a literary miracle has transpired, and the entire world must be made aware of its existence, for what I have created will surely make the world a better place.
Mmm hmmm… I will get back to the housework now; Cinderella, returning to reality. No, Dog… writin’s not your thing.
January 25, 2009
Sunday; Day of Rest
This is my third attempt at something to say. I’m not backspacing and erasing any more; whatever lands here will stay here. Let’s hope it’s something good.
Today is Sunday. I’ve never been fond of Sundays, and I really can’t figure out why. Believe me; I’ve tried to put my finger on the problem – with no success whatsoever. Sundays are slower, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Whether or not I attend church seems to have no bearing on the matter. Whether or not I am home alone or with family makes no difference. Sunday afternoons just leave me wanting to sleep them away. I’m often bored on Sundays, but nothing sounds fun or interesting which would remove the boredom.
Sundays were intended to be a day of rest, and maybe I’m just not paying proper attention to the plan. Maybe I’m trying too hard to make use of a day which is, in fact, not intended to have much use beyond worship and rest. It would be very typical of me to march to the beat of a different drummer and not even notice.
So, I shall shift my attention. I will begin to ask, not how I can find some excitement in Sundays, but rather, how I can find rest. I do believe we can rest in activities as well as in napping, so it isn’t necessarily a question of finding the softest pillow. I think it’s more a question of what soothes the soul. Typing on this keyboard has been restful. I’m calmer now than when I began.
I often forget the benefits of writing. I sit down at the keyboard thinking that I must have some grand plan, when, in fact, all it takes is to simply begin. I look back and see that I have written four full paragraphs up to this point, and I can’t begin to tell you how I got here. Oh, sure, I’ve said a lot of nothing, but my soul has profited. When the soul profits, I think we must be doing what we were intended to do. That is where we find rest.
January 26, 2009
1.26.09
Posted in blogging, commentary at 6:09 pm by Mme Mole
Things have been pretty dull at my house lately. Usually, my son or daughter will do or say something that will send us into fits of laughter, or something ridiculous will happen to me that I can report. Not so, of late. I find myself wondering what has happened to change us into such serious people all of a sudden. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it is winter – a time for hibernation, if you ask me.
I have most definitely reverted to active mole status, burrowing myself so deeply underground that I have not left my house for a week, nor do I see people on a regular basis, other than those in my immediate family. Some people tell me this is not healthy. However, I am perfectly content. It does tend to make me overly introspective, though. Is that bad? I suppose it’s like everything else in life: all things in moderation.
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