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I’d Rather Be Writing

 

I’ve recently gotten back into writing. I used to do a lot more of it than I have been the past few years (enough of it to get a few short stories published).

My problem lately, though, I think, is that I put way too much pressure on myself to make my writing “good” and I got discouraged and frustrated. Which is sad for me, because if I’m truly honest with myself, if money were no object, all I’d do is write and write and write.

So not enjoying it isn’t an option.

Then I remembered something that Ray Bradbury advised (I think it was Mr. Bradbury, anyway) – “Write a short story per week. It’s impossible to write 52 bad short stories in a row.” 

Which made me remember that rough drafts are allowed to suck and writing should just be fun!

So that’s what I’ve started doing. Last week, I hit up Pinterest for some visual prompts, grabbed my notebook, and mind-barfed all over the page.

It was fun! There was no pressure and the story itself has some promise I think. I’ll know more as I start transcribing it.

I also plan on using this exercise to play around with genres, view points, and have fun. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a nice gem in all that mess!

For now, I’m going to continue to blow off going grocery shopping for the moment and spend some more time sitting out on my porch with my dog, tablet, and imagination.

Because who wants to spend time in the grocery store when it looks like this outside?

The view from my back porch.
The view from my back porch.

What tempts you from your chores on a beautiful day? And if you’re an artist, writer, musician, etc. how do you keep yourself inspired? 

Cross-posted from my fitness blog – Writer’s Fitness Plan

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The Closet Crybaby

I know that I’ll use my blog as a vehicle to vent my frustrations regarding the trials and tribulations of parenthood. But, I also want to make sure that I use it to share some of the pride and joy my kids bring to my life as well. And, you know, brag on them a bit at times.

I’m a crybaby. A big one.

I discovered my sniveling status about a decade ago during a presentation on the rainforest my oldest son (codename: Connor) delivered to his first grade class. The look of horror on his face when he realized it was actually his mother sniffling in the middle of the audience was enough to shame me into trying to keep my waterworks to myself from then on.

But I still have them. I can’t help it. I tear up whenever I experience strong emotions. Pride being one of those.

And this past week of school band performances thoroughly tested my ability to keep my sniffles and tears hidden.

Alan's first music performance.My first challenge? Alan’s very first music concert with his band class. For a group of kids who’d never touched an instrument until four months ago, they sounded all right!

At least, it no longer sounded like a squirrel farm undergoing a painful, mass-suicide ritual. (I’m sorry, but a beginner instrument, especially the trumpet, can sound harsh at first.)

The kids and their band director worked hard all fall. For their first public concert, they treated the proud parents in the audience to classics like “London Bridge” and “Jingle Bells” as well as “My Dredel.” I did great keeping the sniffles in check all the way up to their finale; Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.”

Yes. A few tears of joy escaped. And a sniffle or ten. Connor, sitting next to me, pretended not to notice (as I pretended not to notice him rolling his eyes at me).

The marching band performs "Rocky Point Holiday."Then it was his turn to challenge my anti-sniffle ability. He performed in two of the pieces during his school’s two and a half hour Performing Arts Winter Showcase (PAWS for short).

Thankfully, it was dark in the auditorium during the concert band’s performance of “Undertow” by John Mackey. I easily hid my red nose and watery eyes. Hiding them during the marching band’s performance of “Rocky Point Holiday” was a bit more of a struggle.

For one thing, the lights were on. For another, the marching band surrounds the entire audience and a couple of his friends were standing right next to me. The pressure to not cry was fierce! I ended up hiding behind my camera phone, taking pictures. Surprisingly, the pictures turned out OK.

So my readers, Connor and Alan especially, if you ever see me sitting in the very back of the auditorium, or suddenly studying my phone, hands, or shoe-laces, it’s not because I’m bored or not paying attention.

It’s so you won’t see me shedding those tears of pride in my seat.