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| Two Humming Birds Painted by Wyona Bates |
I am curious about where one finds three hours to write.
In my day book, I can pencil in writing, and book off from 8 to 11 am.
By the time I get up, dressed, eat and do 6 simple exercises for my new hip,
I look at the clock and the whole morning is essentially gone.
Now that is not to say I am unhappy having a skill level where I can do all of these things on my own. It is just that the work of daily living gets in the way of this task I have given myself of writing for 3 hours a day.
Does cleaning off email messages count as writing? Ones like, “you are receiving this message because you are signed up to ACADEMIA and have read the following articles so we think you might also be interested in this one?” And then the new article does seem interesting and I do want to read it.
Or how about the alert “Your Capital One bill must be paid". Nope. I can’t really count taking care of my bills as writing though it does keep me out of interest collecting on those debts if I don’t pay them.
I want to respond to notes from old friends. As the months go by, either they or I loose our power to write as I would like to. But I guess when I say I want to spend 3 hours writing it is three hours above and beyond what I do when I get into my email.
I must go after those 3 hours and find them in the day. Right now, they are doing a disappearing act for me.
And what about the odd pieces of paper on which I have put random notes for me to remember for when I do sit at the computer. A collection of those erratic thoughts are be stapled together, in some haphazard condition and then taken to the computer and there goes another couple of hours goes by as I putter with them. Satisfying to complete that task. But it doesn’t fit into that category that I am now seeing is pretty finite: write on a certain topic and don’t let any interruptions happen – as one writer said, “focus on your task, even if there is a dead body in the sink”.
I know I have been working very hard. “Very” is a word I try hard not to use. But I am asking myself, am I really doing anything productive during the time I spend at the compter, and will I wish some day that I had kept my eye on my own agenda. Anyway, I do have the excuse that I have barely gained clarity of mind from the operation. Those high level drugs are good for healing, but not that good when it comes to writing and being full of them.
And I also know my job it to let the tiny muscles heal, but to move enough that I don't get a blood clot. Still... I wonder if I could write 3 hours a day. It is possible. The children next door can't come over for they are too rambunctious for me yet. So I am truly alone.
I ought to be able to find 3 hours a day for writing.
Arta
I'm speechless.
ReplyDeleteAnd since would say, that is not a good state for someone who makes a living supporting others with their communicate.
ReplyDeleteWow. That comment appears to have been written by a bot. Proof reading. Saying, "it's not my forte," feels like an unsatisfying excuse in the moment.
ReplyDeleteBut now that I see I am at least 5 minutes into an unplanned block of writing, and trusting, it is only you and I, my reader, that will see this text, I shall write on.
ReplyDeleteMy mind strays to wondering if posting unnecessary, unedited notes here to you, my writing companion, is contributing to climate change, and I should sto
ReplyDeleteOh, sweet mind, mind that can wander mid sentence and forget to return, I will wait for you to return, as you always do.
ReplyDeleteAh, there you are.
Arta, I was going to call, but knowing you might ask if I had read your latest post, I headed to larch haven first.
Although my eyes were darting between Wyona's painting and your text, at the speed of the wings of a humming bird, you had me at the phrase, "curious about."
There is something inviting about that concept, like an invitation saying, "let's think together about this."
I so do love exploring an idea with another. Another who has not a hidden agenda to teach or persuade. Another who can step into the space of wonder, of open curiosity, even for a fleeting moment, and we may find ourselves, beloved one, returning from our thought journey with something discoverable only by two, us two.
And perhaps the clock will let us known that three hours if writing have passed, but we will have curiosity about that with the lived experience that took us out of time and lasted for a precious eternity.