Actually, it was Saturday. Four years. And I’ve only tried to kill it once- that didn’t go over so well. Through writing I have found my voice. Some who know me would say “finding my voice” was never my problem- but being frank and literary is not the same as knowing your voice. Through writing I have been allowed to clear my mind, hone my words, and figure out exactly what I want to say. Sometimes I do it with panache, sometimes with a sledgehammer. Through writing I have found other writers, people and friends who carefully craft with words their intangibles, and who create something meaningful from that ether.
(…and I just had to stop writing to break up a fight, and ice Abby’s split lip- a gift from Beanie in his rambunctiousness. Such is the life of woman writer who also happens to be a mother…)
There is no Clean Well Lighted Place for me. There is no Room of Ones Own. There is a computer on a desk in what should be our dining room, but which doubles as an office/library/pass through. There is not even a laptop for convenient wandering. There are children interrupting every string of thoughts, and more ideas get lost in the chaos than ever make it out my fingers and onto the screen.
I would treasure a record of my grandmother’s thoughts and dreams- it would be a pearl of great price. When I started this blog, I didn’t know I was a writer. It has been a pleasant surprise to uncover a hidden talent. It has also broadened my world beyond the confines of my home full of small children, and fulfilled the needs of my creative mind- in the days when nothing else could.
Thank you to those of you who’ve become my friends in real life. Thank you to the people who drop by to say hello, and who leave an occasional supportive or kind word. And thank you to the lurkers- I know you’re there. So while blogging can be narcissistic, and it’s sometimes hard to resist veering off into the image in the pond- it has been a collective good in my life. Thank you for being a part of it.
(…and the timer just buzzed to pull the pizza out of the oven, and the thundering heard of children are rumbling up the stairs, following their noses- it’s family night, after all…)