In order to immerse myself in this writing, I must let go of the other writing I am doing, particularly for this blog. I must dedicate all my physical and psychic time to it. And so, I’m going to hang up a “Gone Writing” sign for a while. Every Saturday I will check in to let you know how I’m doing, and maybe I will add a quote along the way. But during the week, I have “Gone Writing”.
“It is time,” as the expression goes. Time to start writing again in earnest; time to finish ‘Very Grateful’. A memoir? A biography? An autobiography? All of the above? none of the above? Somewhere in between? I don’t know what to call this celebration of my mother life, but I do know that I need to finish it, and that I need to do it now. I need to share the gifts that my mother gave to me, her family and the many people who knew her because these gifts are treasures worth spreading beyond her circle of acquaintances. Her gifts are for daughters and sons who are living with aging parents; they are for men and women who are circling seventy; and they are for everyone in between. They are gifts of love and faith.
In order to immerse myself in this writing, I must let go of the other writing I am doing, particularly for this blog. I must dedicate all my physical and psychic time to it. And so, I’m going to hang up a “Gone Writing” sign for a while. Every Saturday I will check in to let you know how I’m doing, and maybe I will add a quote along the way. But during the week, I have “Gone Writing”.
0 Comments
The owner of the cottage is recuperating at home. Things are looking up for him, but he needs at least three more weeks before even considering that he head to Florida. I’ve told him that what is most important is his healing, and that of course the best place to do that is in his own home. Right now I’m thinking that I’ll make it up there after the first of year. Fine with me. I have a full calendar of December plans. So what to do about my writing? Originally I had it in my head that I would begin anew after settling in up there—which would be NOW or at least the week after Thanksgiving—which would be next week. Regardless, I’ll have to take a week off in the middle of the month for a ‘sisters’ trip’ to DC. And then there is Christmas and New Year’s week, and before I know it, it is January and I’m at the cottage. What amuses me is that as far as writing is concerned, only the venue has changed. At the moment I have NO idea how it will all play out. Will I immerse myself in writing for a week and then take the rest of the year off, or will I wait? The one thing I am certain of is that once I begin, I have to keep at it. That’s the way it was when I wrote the books for teachers; it’s all I thought about, all I did. This isn't writer's block. All I need to do is decide when I want to start--and then begin. On Monday I opened the file, read my editor’s comments and did some more thinking. That was about it. Yesterday, a gorgeous November day, I took a walk, caught up on emails and blog stuff, cooked supper for a friend who just had surgery, and paid her a visit; I check out two books from the library for my evenings entertainment--The Bone Orchard, by Paul Doiron and The Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon. Today we’re off to visit friends in Vermont. Seems that I need to find chunks of time to get back into writing, but at the moment I have no idea where they are. I haven’t heard how the owner of the cottage is feeling or what his plans will be. Waiting is okay. Life is good. Today, right now, I’d be packing up the car; after church I’d be heading to the cottage-by-the-sea; in the afternoon I’d be walking the beach. But plans change; nothing stays the same. No resentment, no ‘poor me’. And yet, this morning I’m feeling a little disappointment. I love the solitude of consecutive days; I love the silence of no human or electronic sounds; I love the simplicity of routine and only a couple of bags of stuff. Tomorrow, my first day at the cottage, was to be the day that I would return to writing my memoir. No excuse, I tell myself. It is time. I will walk across the street to the library, computer in hand, and I will write for two hours; I will do that five days out of seven. My determination is strong. All the while I will hope that the owner of the cottage gets better—mainly for his sake, but also for mine. Yesterday I received a call from the man from whom I rent the cottage-by-the-sea. From his hospital bed he told me that he was dealing with a little medical problem and thus would not be flying to Florida on Sunday as planned. Could I hold off coming to the cottage for a couple of weeks until….? “Of course. The important thing is that you get better. I’m fine wherever I am,” I told him. And I meant it. My first thought was that he get better so he could play tennis in the Florida sun. I readily admit that on another day, in another situation, I could have thought first of myself, of my loss. But this was a good day! The good day continued as I noticed how content I was with the changing plans: the shift from days of solitude watching the water and walking the beach, to the inherent sociability of my life at home; the readjustment I would have to make to schedule writing my memoir. I’m fine wherever I am these days. Six years ago, as I prepared for my first season at the cottage, I wouldn’t have been in that place of satisfaction. Back then I longed to experience silence, solitude and simplicity and figure out what it meant in my life--past, present and future. Now I have a sense of it; I own it deep inside. Wherever I go I carry silence, solitude and simplicity with me. I hope this works out for us. I hope my friend can get to Florida. I hope I can have another season at the cottage. Regardless, our journey will continue to change. Regardless, I am very grateful. In one of her essays on writing, published in This Is The Story Of A Happy Marriage, Ann Patchett is very clear about a few things. Writing is hard and wonderful. Okay, I can accept that. She is also very clear that there is no such thing as writer’s block. She has no sympathy for that kind of excuse. Instead she tells us to sit down every day and accept NO distractions. It may happen that you do not write a word, but you MAY NOT to do anything else—no email, not surfing the web, no solitaire, no getting up to do a load of laundry. Ann did just this for one month, and then for another month and pretty soon she was into it; she was writing. Once the writing rhythm was established, she gave herself a little slack. But we have to admit that it worked. Just look at all the novels she has published. I’ll be heading back to the cottage a week from tomorrow. For those of you who aren’t familiar with my the cottage-by-the-sea experience, let me explain. From mid-November to mid-April I rent a cottage right on the Atlantic Ocean (well, a couple of hundred feet from it), an hour and a half drive from my home. My general routine is to spend the week there and then return home for the weekend. At the cottage I watch the ocean (my specialty is sunrises), read, write, pray, walk and do jigsaw puzzles. I talk to no one, never turn on the TV, and stay off the internet except to post my blog and check email morning and evening. As expressed in this blog, I go for silence, solitude and simplicity and because sometimes I like to be alone. This is my sixth season at the cottage. Each year has been both the same and different. I wonder how it will be this year? In 2011 I was traveling back and forth to visit my mom, who turned 101 that May and died that October. 2012 was a grieving year, as was 2013. Last year I began working on a memoir about her, which I have entitled Very Grateful. I am hoping 2015 will be the year to finish the book and get it out there so people can learn about this amazing, very grateful woman who was my mom. Election Day. Never a quiet one, nor a simple one. Since I watch very little TV and hardly ever network TV, I’ve been spared most political ads. The few I’ve seen have helped me realize that, at least for me, it is difficult to a keep positive in the midst of political rhetoric. Politics creeps in everywhere. The weather, and now politics, are fair game as conversation starters when you meet a friend at the supermarket. Fine, I can move down the aisle without being rude. But beware of meetings, where you can become a captive to the whim of those present. The other day as we gathered for Bible study (read on to figure out the topic), the conversation began, opinions flew. I stayed silent until out I came with, “Well, I’m voting for Mary Magdalene.” Um, I kinda wish she was on the ballot. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
Categories
All
Archives
September 2023
|