Sunday, October 30, 2011

Why Writing?

Writing is powerful. Writers have the choice of what, how and when to share, along with how much of themselves to pour into the words. I am learning to craft the sentences, purposefully placing words for balance, rhythm and emphasis. Building the scenes, enriching the lines with vivid details, hand-selecting each variable to bring a story to life. I am learning to write with purpose. Somehow I am starting to master the techniques and mechanics. Once mastered, miraculously, I may even have something meaningful to say. Then I will be ready. Ready for what? I am still not sure, but ready for certain I will be.



The kids at Longwood Gardens
last Sunday.
started grad school not only wanting to know how to write, but I wanted to know what to think, or rather, what I think. In this often muddled mess in my mind, distracted and pulled in countless directions simultaneously, forcing concrete words onto paper will at least solidify what I think at one point in time, a snapshot of clarity in an otherwise blurry scene of rapidly passing days. Solid writing will no doubt increase the number of clear and totally focused scenes in my days, increase the opportunity to pause and reflect, I hope.

I raise my children: we laugh, we eat, we walk, we read. We practice multiplication facts, Spanish, and spelling words. I sign planners and tests. I wash their clothes and their dishes, prepare their meals. And each day I do it all again, hoping they end up happy adults, able to support themselves, and making confident choices that make sense for them. Good people with strong minds and soaring hearts that make their worlds better places to be, bring joy to their loved ones and bring out the best in themselves and those around them. I work at this labor of love each day and each night, with a tenacity to rival the wealthiest workaholic, but is it enough? If the dishes are scattered around the kitchen, have I failed? When the cat is curled up in the pile of clean laundry still not folded (again), my work is not done. If the child is rude, unhappy, or hungry, my job is not done.

With writing, at some point, the piece is done. It may not be good, it may not leave my desk, but it will be finished. Clarity, purpose, drive, goals, and proof – it will be written down. The words will live so that I can touch them, see them, hear them, relive them again and know that I have accomplished something real, something meaningful, even if only to me. And that is enough.


The last hibiscus bloom of the season.
Fall foliage covered in snow.
Photo credit to my husband, David. 

1 comment:

  1. I love your perspective. It does feel special to finish writing a piece. I hope to embrace my writing in the future the way you seem to embrace yours.

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