I am checking the forecast who,e the tea kettle readies itself to boil. The toddler and the cat are having a wee disagreement about who should sit on the top of the couch, the answer is really neither but I pick my battles.
I have been working on national novel writing project. I thought it was going to be a novel but it’s going to be a memoir of sorts. Writing my memoir feels like a big task but i am just allowing this to be my zero draft and not trying to shape the writing too much because otherwise , i might get discouraged.
To be honest, i have never been itching to write my memoir….it always felt to painful and crazy to really go there. However, time has marched on and i am seeing things in a new lights. The past is the past but we are doomed to repeat it unless we learn from it.
When i tell people my story…even just the highlights…they are amazed…i am amazed because it is nothing short of a miracle. So i will write it and even if i only print two copies, one for me and one for the hubby that is enough because the story will have been told.
I’m watching the trees sway outside, they gave been calling for snow this afternoon. I don’t feel ready for snow because just the other day i was frolicking in the leaves but the weather is as it is.
These days feel so pregnant with possibilities. I am not even sure what that means anymore but i am looking to the sky and trying not to step in random buckets the kids have left out. There is so much to learn and be grateful for.
I’ve been at it again. collecting books from the library that I really have no time to read. I really can’t help it though. stacks of books are like a comfort food for me. I think it’s because growing up I was surrounded by them.
I can remember the first time I went to the public library in my town. I really had no idea what is was…this place full of books. as I was a little kid, I was like a one of those yippie pups, with all the energy and mischief. I remember getting into the librarians stamps amongst other things.
the Texas prisoners built our fancy new library one summer, I think. it’s hard to say because Texas seasons kinda look all alike in my mine minus the trees.
I remember the orange jumpsuits or were they stripped and the chains but maybe that was a movie. isn’t it funny how reality and fiction merge in our memories?
I think the first books I officially checked out where baby-sitters club books. I love the babysitters club. I tried to start one up in my neighborhood but seeing that me and my friends were only on primary school that didn’t go to far. I also loved the sleep over friends and nancy drew.
one day I discovered Virgina Hamilton in a school book and fell in love. it was so nice to see stories with people like me…although I do like to read stories of people who are different…I think that reading those stories young though imparted on me that it’s okay for me to write things. of course that got complicated as I went through school and learned to write for the test and the teacher.
in my heart reading and writing are closely linked and they are both comfort foods. I would not call myself a good reader or writer but I do enjoy doing both as long as I can do them from the heart.
somehow in all this internet stuff that part got lost for me…when you write with one eye towards an audience…it takes some of the life out of for me.
I think it’s because rarely do I write what I know. I write to understand and heal and that is often non-linear and messy…I am not sure if it’s easily digestible.
these days, I roam the library not with not much in mind. I am not a fan of popular books because the hype makes it almost nerve racking to read unless it’s Louise Penny (and then I know I will likely be happy). I am usually just looking for something that catches my eye and my heart.
I don’t read to learn. although that can be useful( and does happen). Mostly, I read to know…to know others and myself…for the stories…to get inside a world language and be inspired to dive deeper into my own world.
I am inspired by pretty covers and a variety of subjects. mostly, though I am inspired by that little girl with wonky plaits and very bad fashion (that was me) pouring over the titles in a small one room library finding out that life was bigger than she ever thought.as she/I huddled her precious pile and loose change to pay her mother’s library fines ( yikes…I guess this trait run in the family) and headed by home..which was complicated place and word at the time.
if I am honest, I forgot all about that library until now. all I remember was the feeling of walking through the back fields of town, to my small world, with hope in my hands.