Confession: I am not a writer

I am not a writer because I haven’t been writing.

Oh, I’ve been doing a lot of writing-related stuff. I’ve been editing and publishing. I’ve been brainstorming and networking. I’ve been… uh, scrubbing the toilet. Which doesn’t sound like a writing-related activity, but it is, I swear, not that it matters because I’m not a writer anyway.

Because I haven’t been writing.

I don’t like to talk about it. I tend to be hard on writers — ESPECIALLY myself — who don’t write. There are a ton of reasons, motivations, justifications, excuses, lies, and damn lies why writers can’t write. Some of the reasons are more valid than others. Heck, even some of the damn lies are pretty good — we’re writers, after all. But in the end, if I don’t write… well, I think I’m not a writer.

I’m not depressed, and I’m not sick. I don’t have any greater-than-usual stresses in my life. I’m not out of ideas. (Oh geez, not even close!) I don’t have writer’s block. And I DO have deadlines. I haven’t broken my fingers or crashed my hard drive. (Knock on wood with my non-broken but non-writing fingers.) I’m not burned out. I don’t NOT want to write. I don’t want any there-theres or condolences. I don’t have any good excuses or bad lies. I’m just… not writing.

Or I should say I haven’t been writing. See, it’s been so long, I forgot how to do verb tenses.

I AM writing again now, finally, which is the only reason I can even write this post. I want to do a little happy dance but I’m keeping my fingers on the keyboard. I just thought I should put this out there in case someone else is not writing or not doing whatever your “thing” is and so feeling like a fraud.

I don’t have any three bullet point list of how to write again. I just… started writing. So now I’m a writer. Phew. It was just that easy. (And maybe just that hard?)

If you’re having trouble writing, put some words in the comment box. Maybe that’ll get you going again. And if you’ve had trouble writing — past tense — please feel free to share how you got out of it. Maybe it’ll help someone else.

Golden days

Sunday! Spring! Sunlight! Things that are golden: the daffodils, the hearts of the evergreen clematis, the bright straw spread over the garden beds (and the dog), sunset after a day of work.

Happy Solstice!

Sunset here is at 4:29. So early. Such dark nights. But we’re coming to the light side now.

Mad at the Megalith by Rainstick CowbellI didn’t actually go to Stonehenge. Maybe someday… This is the Stonehenge in Maryhill, Washington, where I took pictures for Rainstick Cowbell some years ago.

Good night, night. Good morning, sunlight.

 

Walk?

Walk?: A Dog Drama in One Part
Based on the Riveting True Story

INT. CHAOTIC YET WELCOMING HOME OFFICE – A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

Scene opens on peaceful OWNER at her computer. DOG sits behind her.

DOG
(staring at back of OWNER’s head)

OWNER:
What? We already went for a walk.

DOG
(tilts head quizzically)

OWNER
No, we did. Remember? Twice.

DOG
(tilts head other direction)

OWNER
We walked for a half hour this morning. And then just this afternoon,
we walked for almost two hours.

DOG
(tip of tail wags tentatively at word “walk”)

OWNER
We went all the way to the dog park. You sniffed. You peed. You chased the ball.

DOG
(tail wags harder at word “ball”)

OWNER
It’s nine o’clock at night. We’re not going out again. No. Go lay down.

DOG
(ears flatten, eyes turn liquidy soft)

OWNER
Argh!

DOG
(jumps up because obviously “argh” means “yay walk time!”

THE END
(until tomorrow morning)

begging