Posted by: scintillatingspeck | June 3, 2013

Writing no matter what.

This, finally, is how I know, definitively, that I’m a writer.  It has nothing to do with whether I do it well, or how many people read what I write.  It has nothing to do with publication, with accolades, although that could be nice.  It’s not about satisfying the demands of an audience, even an audience of one.

I write because I have to, because I will go mad if I don’t, because I need it to breathe, I need it to be my full self.  My hands are pumping the bellows of my heart and senses, breathing language into the solitary chambers of my mind, blowing outwards in endless descriptive gestures of love, pain, recognition, awe.  Out you go, words, birthed and squalling, given away like free kittens, seeking homes in other hearts, wandering in thickets full of surprises.

I was agonizing, earlier, about writing.  It requires time, see, and possibly a wee bit of getting organized.  I have a 6-year-old who is with me the vast majority of the time, and she deserves my attention, as do other beloveds, and the garden, and there’s that constant flotsam of everyday life.  A friend suggested to me that I listen to my innards and seize the day; I replied that I need to allow my innards to throw me out of my own way.  Innards, yo!  Could you step in, please?  Have a turn with the megaphone?

Innards reply, brazenly, confidently.
Get your effin’ priorities straight.  You want to live.  Really LIVE.  This is how you live.  It doesn’t matter how other people live.  Find more time, damn it.  Give up whatever else you can, and figure out more ways for Lily to be engaged in activities separate from you.  How many hours a day, a week?  Figure it out.  All that love you want to pour out?  Ain’t gonna pour if the well is empty.  All that you want to say before your dying day?  You need to say it.  A word at a time.  You need to wrestle with a schedule, to get this to work?  Then grit your teeth and do it.  Stop flailing and get a grip.

Task-master innards.  They’re right, of course.  And as they rummage through the excuses and toss them out, landing with dramatic thunks on the ground, they also lead my eyes to wander to the roses in bloom.  Get serious.  Get playful.  Get organized, and dreamy.  Build the solid scaffolds you need, and then hang upside-down on them.  Do it now.

Photo on 2013-06-03 at 11.32 #3



  1. Fabulous. And useful to witness, for my own recent silencing of the innards. Thanks, Jen.

  2. Simply love the metaphors; the words are so true . . .

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