On writing, part 2

Last week was a hard week that punched me in the face a few separate times. I kept wanting to escape into my writing to deal with it and use my anxious energy for good, but the project next at bat was that dealing-as-a-cancer-spouse book idea. And you know what? Turns out that's not something I want to dive into when I've finally found a delicious and sacred hour to write. Because every time I've tried to sit down and really get rolling, my whole body/soul/mind/breakfast recoils.

And then I was reading one of my 1200 Buddhist/mindfulness books this morning and a passage was focusing on, what else, living in today and only today instead of yesterday and all the old yesterdays and hark! I realized no, no, no -- this isn't for me.

And anyways, yo, what I need to push myself to do is write fiction. It's why I did that summer writing program at Yale (the very week I found out I was pregnant with Bea -- oooohhh there were some very queasy editorial panels I sat through) -- to find out if I could actually do fiction. Like at all. To see if I could do more than write about my life in short bursts. And I came away after those 10 days feeling like I could, like I can.

But it's a lot harder for me (I think for anyone) to sit down and work on a story than to sit down and bang out a quick anecdote. So I fight it a little and look for other things to do (there are just so many closets to clean!) when all I really want is to write a great -- or good, I'll take good! -- story.

I want to work on a world that I'll want to escape into when it's time to work. Like Mma Ramotswe's Botswana or sure okay it's not a book but it's heaven -- Stars Hollow. I love that kind of stuff and I seek it out like crack and I want to try my best to make my own. (Insert Walter White joke here.)

Writing about writing is another delay tactic of sorts, sure, but who cares. I feel a weight off my shoulders typing this post because: Do not have to write sad cancer book! Can write warm and hopefully funny novel book! Tarzan happy and drink hot cocoa under covers now!

Oh and coda: Behold my baby who turned 9 months this weekend! I don't type about her nearly as much as I did Harper on my old blog, but trust me when I say she is a w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l baby. Funny and curious and loud and loving and just happy. My tiny bumble Bea.