Day 59 – Ready

There’s this lie I tell myself when I discover another author, especially a current obsessions, has written a book on writing. If I read one more then I’ll be ready. This one is different than all the others. This one will unlock the secret and tell me how it’s done. And it does just like all the others did. But fledgling writers can’t get enough of it. The story of someone else’s beginning. When they knew writing was the only way for them. When they knew they’d make it. What they did when they thought they wouldn’t. They are books of hope. Stories of ordinary people who didn’t stop at the first rejection. I can’t afford to tell myself that lie anymore, not with this project. I don’t have time for one...

Day 58 – Lucky

Being a writer is lucky. You get better with age. Writers aren’t expected to be any good until their over 30. If you do anything interesting before then you’re a prodigy. It’s more forgiving than other art forms. Plus, as a writer you get to be eccentric. You get to live in a state of wonder and be childlike forever.  To hell with anyone who doesn’t take you seriously. What is there to take serious about life anyway? Not much if you really think about it. So take your time. Use it to delight yourself. Every word you write makes you better than you were before you wrote it. That’s how I get myself going anyway. Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy. – Anne Frank Prompt:  Write you’re happiest memory no...

Day 57 – Timer

I time my writing sessions. Since the beginning of this project, I’ve been using the timer on my phone. Huge mistake. Huge. My phone vibrates, it pings, it’s just too damn easy to pick up and shoot that email to so and so about that thing I forgot. Which I probably forgot because it wasn’t that important anyway. Ugh! So today I declared enough and bought myself a cute little timer from Anthropologie. No only is it cute, it ticks. A quick little clip clop like a trotting pony. I used it today for the first time and my ability to focus improved exponentially. Why did I wait over 56 days to do myself this favor? Like writing isn’t hard enough as it is. Le sigh. Very occasionally, if you pay really close attention, life doesn’t suck....

Day 56 – Loss

A friend died today. Unexpectedly, but not so unexpectedly. Sitting still, still enough to write, feels wrong. Pacing feels right. Make the feet match the rhythm of the mind. The desperate clawing at memory. All those memories. Make yourself remember. Make promises to remember. Squeeze your eyes shut. See them more clearly. The card games,  the swing set, the walks home after dark. Remembering comes first before the regrets, the what ifs, the should’ves. Then you remember them together, the memories and the regrets. You gather them together, cradle them against your neck like you would a purring cat and pace some more. Gently this time. No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. – C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed Prompt:  Write about a cat curled...

Day 55 – Voice

During my childhood, my mother wrote many letters and received many letters in return. Most of them came from old friends back in Minnesota, many of whom lived out on farms in rural areas. I don’t know what those letters contained. I never read them nor were they read to me. Except one. It was from a farmer’s wife, a Mennonite who always wore long prairie skirts and never cut her hair which she kept twisted on the top of her head in a loose bun. She and her husband kept horses on their small working farm. The letter my mother read to me was about one of those horses in particular. Polly, a fat, little, dapple grey I used to ride bareback through their pastures. Polly had found a loose board in the fence and wiggled through during the night....