Lately I have been beating myself up. With three short stories started I have no ambition, for lack of a better word, to finish them. Freeing up my mind to lose myself in the story is too much work. It requires more energy then I can muster. Similar to forcing a square peg into a round hole or even worse, an elephant through a keyhole. I get frustrated and angry with my characters. At the end of the day I don’t like them and I don’t want to see them anymore. That is not a good thing.
Some mornings before I drag myself out of bed I think about my forest princess, or my witch Maia, whom I absolutely love. We agree “today is the day” and I set my mind to writing while I’m having my coffee. Until my life slaps me upside the head. It’s snowing again, the phone starts ringing, school is cancelled, school is delayed. I need to call the drivers. My mother gets up. What’s wrong? She’s all confused. It’s only 5:00 a.m. it’s too early to be up. She needs to go back to bed. The dog is crying to go out. The cat is grooming my hair. My husband is up, the adrenaline is pumping, another foot of snow…… I think you can figure out what happened to Maia. Poor lady gets a rain check on having her story told. Nothing gets written.
When this happens and it happens a lot, I end up mentally bashing myself. It comes quite naturally. You could say I have mastered the art. Very ironic. The one thing I excel at is telling myself how bad I am at everything.
Today, while I was looking deep inside for some much-needed patience, I asked myself “what is a writer anyway?” (While I was in my head I figured I would ask) Is is only someone who has many best-selling books? Someone who has a super successful television show or block buster movie? Someone who can belt out lyrics or get your feet moving with a pulsating beat? The answer is….drum roll please….it’s any and all of them. It’s also the person who sits and types this blog.
I may never be Stephen King or Carole King for that matter, but I am who I am. A stressed out, over tired, married, 50-year-old nonni, who drives a school bus and is primary caregiver for her 84-year-old mother with Alzheimer Disease.
I am a writer. The time will come when I defrag my brain and Maia has a clear path to pop out and tell her story. She deserves it after having to live in the screwed up brain of mine.