Not Too Long

 I'm writing  to acknowledge the receipt of a comment that renewed my faith in writing. I write long. Some would say too long. Okay that would be my husband. But I do feel sometimes that we are being forced to write shorter and shorter pieces, while mine seem to be getting longer and longer. As I wrapped up my short attempt yesterday, I realized it had become my longest one yet, and I had resigned myself to knowing that no one would take the time to read it. As it turned out, not only was it read, that person left very kind remarks and it was clear that they did not merely scan it, she had read the entire entry, She renewed my faith in readers. I had been focusing on how to cut it back without losing the integrity of my writing, and now I know that I do not have to. 

Time Waits for no Writer

"Houston, we have a problem." 

Everyday now for 16 days, I could not wait to sit down and start writing. Sometimes it was at 5:00 in the morning, other times it was late in the evening-- always before 12:00 because I did not want to miss the deadline. No matter the time, the page called to me, and it ran through my thoughts until I could find time to breathe life into it. 

However, for the last two days, I began to feel the pull. A giant Wile E. Coyote Acme Magnet had been pointed towards me and I could no longer resist the draw of other obligations. Wilted organic veggies lay dying a slow death in the crisper as I ignored them preferring to dine instead on Lay's Cheddar Chips while writing. In the laundry room, a third hamper was now filled and overflowing and my drawers were almost depleted as the wash waited patiently for me to take notice. And my poor husband gave furtive glances afraid to suggest any modicum of time or food be thrown his way. I realized it was time. I needed to fulfill my wifely duties.

I suppressed my new addiction to the keyboard yesterday and found my way to the kitchen. I cooked dinner and accepted my husband's invitation to watch a movie. It was nice. I didn't realize that I had actually missed it (somewhat), but was I thinking about writing the whole time? I plead the fifth.  

Lastly, today I opened my gradebook and found, or rather did not find, grades. I had not added the last two assessments. "What? How in the world did I do that?" I pondered. Then it hit me. Instead of coming home, cooking and cleaning and then grading into the night, I was rushing to my computer to write all the stories that fought for my attention all throughout the day. And that is when it hit me, it's a trade off. If I want to write, I have got to give up something in return. Will it be dinner, grading, lesson planning, work, husband, children, friends, the house, the wash...?

What are you giving up to hone your skills?

The View

All of my  blogs used to be funny because I love to laugh at myself and make others laugh in the process. However, tonight I was going to write about the  deplorable treatment of my mom in her nursing home, and I stopped. It is far from funny. It would depress me, and you would not want to read it. Besides, I would not have enough time to write about it anyway.

Then I decided to write about my son, there always used to be some funny scenario to share about growing tweens. However as I wracked my brains, I realized that there is nothing funny because he has reached the start of brooding teenaged funks! He mopes past me and grunts barely audible answers to any question I pose.

Lastly, there’s my husband, I am sure that there is a story there however, I am so busy teaching, taking care of mom, going to class, and grading papers or creating lessons that I scarce see him enough to experience anything funny. (Though I will say that my newly retired husband had the audacity to nudge me in an electronic game of scrabble because I had not made time to make my move.)

Which brings me to my final thought on this situation which is quickly becoming the norm and beginning to overtake my weekly submissions.

Last week, I couldn’t find the time to write at all, and the week before that I wrote a poem about… well, not having anything to write about.  The week before that it was a short paragraph about not having time to write… and the week before that I squeezed in a very short paragraph after school and before the parents arrived on Back to School Night.

And now here I sit basically filling this blank space with more banter on not being able to write due to time constraints as I watch the big hand near the 12 on the clock and my grad professor turning on her presentation.

Sadly, as I perch here straddling this window sill called SOL Tuesdays, looking out at all the other wonderful writers running past my house, I feel like Esperanza’s grandmother in House on Mango Street, who “looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow.” Life has a tight grip on my leg pulling me back, so it can board up the opening through which I have been trying my best to escape these past few weeks since finding you

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