I was trying to write but your hair distracted me.

26 Aug


So tonight, having no children, they being away in another city, spending quality quality time with the inlaws, I went and bought the kitty litter and treats for a launch at work and sat down and had my usual Venti Soy Latte and brought it to my lips and sighed and smiled and picked up a pen and…


Not much I tell you. 2 poems, one terrible. 3 pages of something far too close to home to consider going forth with. The ringing feeling that I should write through my judgement-that I should write and write until my fingers are bleeding and torn and the words are massed into an omelete of sorts, all runny with things and items left behind in the crisper for weeks. I should disregard the belief that the spirit must move me-why should it? The muse has never been my friend before.

My fingers twitched for a cigarette. 4 years after quitting, years after being able to sit anywhere indoors and write, my fingers twitched and my mouth pursed and I remembered the smoke coiling up my face, around my head like armour and I would pause to remember where I was and what my end goal was and what I wanted and I twitched and squirrly like I mourned the loss of something disgusting yet oh so very helpful.

Writing, the writing I want to do-it’s hard. I can’t make my thoughts ferment. They stay barley and hops instead of becoming tasty nectar. They swirl and stir and whisper naughties into my ears, giggling. But they are very not helpful.

It’s not helpful either that I want to write about so much-I want to write about myself as a child, coming through losing a parent-but as a book for adults, or for young adults? Does that matter? I want to say something that means something to others, that rings true. But I cannot narrow my focus, not as I should.


I finally have some time, and I’m just…lost. Arms up in the air shrugging wondering how to gather all the words that hover around me, mocking me. Fuckers.

6 Responses to “I was trying to write but your hair distracted me.”

  1. March August 26, 2008 at 8:59 pm #

    I’m so glad to hear you’re getting some time to yourself, and I have to admit that I”m envious of that, though very happy for you…
    don’t try to push all your words out at once or sounding exactly like you wish the first try… just let them flow, and they’ll take shape on their own.
    Your words are powerful, just like you are. give it time, it’ll come to you….

    did you pick up that cigarrette?

  2. sweetsalty kate August 26, 2008 at 9:14 pm #

    Oh god, TOTALLY… kids are gone/asleep/at playschool/at grammy’s and it is time to write! write! write! as soon as I empty that dishwasher and shower and run one more load of laundry and make lunch and then twenty minutes of staring at the screen, trying to get into the groove and then BAM, Ben’s awake.

    It is so tough to float above the everyday and be creative at a particular moment – a.k.a. “I have 1.75 hours free and I must CREATE!” – I find it near-impossible. Just grab whatever moments you can and if you get on a roll? Great, fantastic, GO GO GO. But if you don’t hit your stride, don’t be hard on yourself for it, okay? Just keep trying, keep stealing those moments.

  3. Marcy August 26, 2008 at 10:35 pm #

    One of my professors said you don’t know what you’re trying to say until you’ve completed the first real draft.

    And yes — judgment must absolutely be suspended. Writing and editing seem to do better when kept quite distant.

    Which is why I’ve never written anything worthwhile either — I can’t suspend the judgment, and I can’t not edit while writing.

  4. Bon August 27, 2008 at 7:29 am #

    the words have always felt like fuckers to me, even when i had all the time in the world and could sit and smoke to my heart’s content in coffee shops. i definitely think judgement is part of it: having such damn high expectations paralyzes, b/c i know what my heart wants to write but struggle to get it out there. and now, busy, it’s harder just to even start.

    boo to frustration.

  5. thordora August 27, 2008 at 7:59 am #

    I wanted to be RObertson Davies when I was 14. So the judgement-always a WEE bit out of line.

    And no, didn’t have that smoke. I know if I so much as bring one to my lips I’ll start again, despite my overwhelming desire to do so. Stupid addiction.

  6. Meg August 27, 2008 at 8:28 pm #

    They swirl and stir and whisper naughties into my ears, giggling. But they are very not helpful.

    it’s a fickle gift, but it’s a gift that hides nuggets in corners.

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