Somebody asked me last week: What do you do all day?
Fortunately, I was able to say "well, I don't watch tv." But that's a negative answer. The positive answer is, um, I do lots of stuff. I read and send a lot of email. (The phone rings rarely.) I read the equivalent of a couple of pages of newsprint from on-line news sources. I read about three books a week. And not just murder mysteries or literary fiction: what I know about the Iraq war, well, nobody has ever asked, but I know a lot. Also, forensic medicine. And space exploration. Right now I'm reading a biography of Napoleon--I had no idea! And The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, a literary fiction book du jour.
What about writing?
huh?
What about your writing?
Oh! That writing! No, I've been unemployed for 14 months, have no spouse or kids to take care of, never do housework (yes, like Bette Davis, my "place is a dump!"), don't like shopping and haven't traveled--but I haven't had time to write. No, not even half an hour a day, which I could easily carve out of all that on-line reading. A half-hour a day, which as the writing experts remind us, could result in a half-page a day, and a short novel in a year.
My friends are so nice. They ask how things are--all the time. Am I getting job interviews? Do I have any good leads? Am I all right financially? (yes, yes, and yes) Am I okay emotionally? Want to go to lunch? (yes, and definitely!) And they all tell me how great it is that now I have time to pursue my long-time dream. To be a writer.
What? Oh! Yes, that dream.
I don't want to.
Why not?
As the president said this past week: everyone's a Simon Cowell. Meaning, whatever you do, everyone's a critic. And their models for critiquing are not nice. And I hate criticism. I don't want to put my precious thoughts out there and--bam!--see them shot down.
One friend had a good suggestion: just write for an audience of one. (I think they meant write for me.) What a great idea! And I'll start small, with this blog.
Although, to be truthful, the reason this is getting posted is because I haven't brought anything to read to my writer's group for about two years. And I won't get kicked out, because it's a pretty small group, and we need all the participants we can get. And I can't just not go--because they know where I live.
I have to write something.
Someday when I'm rich and famous, I'll be able to give them credit: thank you for nagging me since the 20th century! Otherwise, this (novel, blog, screed) would never have been written. And there's a lot to write. A lot has happened in the past year. A lot needs to be put into this blog. I need to get feedback: Do these ideas make sense? Can they be transferred to a larger piece?
Just a half hour a day--then I can get back to my books, my on-line foraging, my other career plans. (I'd also like to be a lounge singer. I picture myself in a sparkly full-length dress, leaning against a piano, exchanging repartee with my accompanist. My role models are Rosemary Clooney and Miss Piggy. See! There's nothing wrong with my imagination!)
Just a half hour a day--I am a writer. It's time to start acting like one.
