“The more I did, the more I wanted to do. You grow ravenous. You run fevers. You know exhilarations. You can’t sleep at night, because your beast-creature ideas want out and turn you in your bed. It is a grand way to live.” ~ Ray Bradbury in his essay on writing, “Drunk, and In Charge of a Bicycle”
In three days, I hope to be calling life grand. Not so much today.
In theory, everything is in place to start a new book. The Christmas things have been packed away, I have a notebook full of scribblings, and the virus that ate my computer has been vanquished, thanks to $175 and a team of experts who are getting to know who I am by the sound of my voice on the phone. Once the ice on the roads melts, the children will head back to school (right?), and I even have a new friend to see me through long days at the kitchen table, a faithful beagle named Oliver (more on him later).
My writing partner and I have set our goals and the date is on the calendar: January 15 will mark the beginning of a little more than a month of madness. Each day will be about writing fast and furious, churning out words and, oh, and trying to make them sing. Not meeting our self-imposed deadline is unthinkable. After all, there’s a dinner outing with our husbands at stake, a toast to our success!
Am I equal to the task? I’ve done this once before, but that by no means makes me feel savvy about the process. Somehow, words come, characters develop minds of their own, as do twists and turns I never could’ve planned. I believe in, for lack of a better word (yikes—let’s not make this a habit), the magic. I believe in getting out of the way of the work, really I do. Why is something I’m called to tackle with half the sleepy part of my brain and half the thinking part so daunting then? Why would I rather hand-wash all my stockings or scrub out the bathtub or take a nap than think about starting? Writing is a joy, so why do I make it scary?
Questions for the universe. I haven’t any answers. I do know this: the on-line journal may be somewhat neglected over the next six weeks. Happily, I live with a family of writers. Perhaps they can pinch hit for me. We’ll see how it goes.
I covet your prayers, friends. And please don’t overlook me as a lunch partner. Nerdy writer-types have to eat too.
Bring the magic over here. Apparently my kids aren’t returning to school until next Tuesday. Some goals would do the DeLuca house some good.
Come scrub my tub and I’ll write for you…
Here’s a short-term goal: Write me a guest post or two. About Sparky, about Steve, about this storm, about helping other people, about anything! Just make it all Missy, and it will be fabulous!
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