Thursday, August 25, 2011


It really is quite lovely...

I have little bursts of inspiration lately.
But it seems like I am never near a computer.
So, those little bursts pop like bubbles,
and instead, I bury myself deeper in the piles of books inside my Kindle.
I read and read and read and read and read
and pretend that it is as good as writing.
I read and read and read and
pretend that it is more important than watching tv
or playing Angry B!irds.
Pretend that I am superior in my time-wasting choice.
But I'm not.
I'm lazy, too.
Because I should be writing.
i SHOULD be writing.
I picture myself--standing on a skyscraper, grey sky behind, wind whipping my far-longer-than-my-real-hair hair, and I am shouting those words with a wide-open mouth, a mouth far larger and able to open than my own. For, as my dentist says, "If anyone tells you that you have a big mouth, they're wrong." Ha. Funnier than he knows, because I am
a talker.
I'm a talk
Just ask my husband.
He'll tell you...if his voicebox hasn't faded away from lack of use.
I'll tell you, if you ask.
But don't expect a short answer.
what you should expect
a novel-length,
I talk so much to make up for all the words I don't write.
Which just seems silly.
Perhaps I should take a vow of silence for a year...
or, like, an hour and a half...
and see how many wonderful and wondrous things I can write.
Probably I would spend all my time IMing with my husband and friends...
instead of delicately constructing the world's next devourable read.
Which I don't think I even know how to do.
But at least
if I keep writing
(every day, they suggest)
then maybe someday...
I'll reach the tipping point--
where my taste and my abilities are in sync.
Or 98 degrees, or whatevs.

Because a great lady recently told me that I am a writer she admires greatly,
and I figure if she's great and she admires me greatly...
well, that's just redundant or, rather, stating the obvious.
But what I meant was that she is amazing and she admires me a wicked lot,
so that reminded me that maybe I should gothefuckahead and make something of myself??
Cuz what the hell?
Why don't I want to HAVE what I want?

Eh. Bleh.

I'm afraid.
But it's what my beloved Ira Glass said, about taste and talent being out of sync, and he said to just hang in there and keep writing and one day my abilities will catch up with my high expectations of authorship.
Not to imply that he said it to me, personally. It was a clip of an interview that they played on

P.S. Once upon a time I was a badass motherfucker. Just like Samuel L. Jackson. Except really, nothing like him. At all. Except maybe the inclination to use the fuck word, but otherwise, I only know his characters, not his character.

And right now........
I feel like that Lisa you all once knew.
Which makes me believe that some day I will write that book.
And that some day is closer than it sounds.


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Muse said...

Hey you, Im so glad I found you again. :)

The Tame Lion said...

Uplifting! Nice post!