I write not in the fringe times.
I write in the once in a great while times.
Not my blog writer cap.
My my other cap-
what do I call it?
That hat does not fit so easy.
That hat seldom gets put on.
I write uninterrupted a few hours at time as a story pours from me.
This story, a work of fiction, much to my surprise, whose opening scene came to me in a quick-sliver flash as I sat by wood stove warmth last winter, I immediately scribbled down; once I could find a sharpened pencil and my writing journal, of course. Fourteen months later this story drips from me in surprising bursts. I never, ever, plan what I am going to write. I simply sit at a blank screen and write. But every time this part fantasy, part allegory, with characters flowering from my own family, comes forth, like a stumbled upon underground spring.
These times are kinda scheduled, but pretty seldom
Like evenings with long bubble baths, chocolate. and good book
Like making love in the middle day.
It’s great when it happens, but nothing you better get used to, nothing you should expect daily.
I have gone months without this type of writer hat.
I have sometimes read my last entry, actually surprised, having completely forgotten what I typed and saved on my white mac book, as if I am a first time reader not the writer, because it has been so long!
I think part of my long absences of this very cathartic, and wonderful experience of writing is because it takes Total Concentration.
I do just about everything with a halved or quarter brain.
It is almost impossible to write at home- where multitasking comes as naturally and is a necessary as breathing.
When I get up extra early I feel like I should pray, read The Word, make home made bread.
Since my first hat is wife/mother and to that well I need supernatural power, wisdom, grace.
Since I announced our family is no longer going to eat store sliced bread, and the fresh bakery bread is awesome but really expensive.
Writing seems very indulgent.
Even here in this space, whose entries I have noticed are getting more spaced out all the time.
Writing a fictional story, that very possibly, if not probable, will never be bound published book, is more than indulgent, if feels foolish.
But I continue.
When the stolen hours manifest, I edit, edit and if there is time, then the story comes out.
If you are called to write, it is gift.
All gifts, including writing, come from God.
If He has given, He will produce.
Produce the product, produce the writer.
And like all fruit from above- it is slow, unexpected, surprisingly good.
It changes you.
Linking up today with Lisa Jo Baker for another five minute Friday with all the varied WRITERS, from all over the country, from so many different walks of life, experiences, and styles.
Who simply write.
Click to join in or read in.