The One That Is Writing Me

Perusing the writing section at Borders recently, I came across an interesting looking book, one of the who-knows-how-many written by successfully published writers, for writers like myself. I don't remember the title or the author, but I do remember the first bit of advise: Don't tell ANYONE you are a writer or anything hinting at writing a book. I paused...a little surge of panic. I've been calling myself a writer, out loud, to people...for years. And then, the worst of it. My last blog entry...I announced to the whole world, well, to my very few loyal readers that I was working on a book. Oh geez, I really blew it. This author warned that I should tell no one...not my mother, not my husband or friends, especially not my children, who would roll their eyes in embarrassment. I would mark myself as a crazy dreamer, a fool. I put the book back on the shelf. Too late for that one.

So what about the book I mentioned in my last blog, the one I was meant to write? Let me elaborate, since, apparently, I've already crossed into the dangerous territory of labeling myself as a writer, perhaps I can alienate myself a bit more. The truth is, the book...it really is the one that is writing me. I've never had any serious aspirations to become a published author. Blogging covers that need to be heard pretty fully. Sure, it would be nice to get paid for doing what you love, but the point is, I don't need it...and that is a great feeling. I love my labels: wife, mommy, friend, writer, dishwasher, under-the-cushions-stuff-vaccumer, but I also realize all these things are as transient as the moment. So I love them, but try not to cling to them. Writing is simply how I live...it's been that way for a very long time now. What I experience and how I grow seeps into my writing. And sometimes, even more poignant, the writing is the experience. That's what I'm talking about. I'm not sure I can explain it in any other way. This book that is writing me is one of my crazy, intentional ideas...an adventure in creative non-fiction...an attempt to observe, question, document, and grow as a writer, as a person, all while savoring the words and art of it.

The joy is in the writing, and in walking, and in tickling, and in sipping a hot cup of tea. The joy is in folding blueberries into a bowl of wholegrain muffin batter. The joy, my dears, is in now, and now and now. When I forget, the pool of water pouring off the table ruffles my joy. The moments of quarreling children and tantrums overwhelm me. These moments, too, are the way of it. And these are the ones that are writing me, as I am writing this post.

So there you have it, the dreaming writer's life and the book I was meant to write. Now you can roll you eyes. :)