There’s nothing like a cyclone outside
to focus your thoughts on writing!
It’s not like I’m going out today as Batsirai
blasts past us on La Réunion. I have time.
So, is it lack of time that keeps people
who say they want to write from doing so?
When I was young, (In my 20’s and teaching middle school core classes), my husband said, “You have the potential to be a writer.” I laughed. “I don’t know how to write! I write computer programs and teach children Math and English but that’s about it.” He gave me one of those smiles and said, “You know better.”
“You write poetry, and songs. I find your ideas scribbled on grocery lists. I hear you sing in the shower. It’s all creation. Don’t let the work you do for money keep you from following your muse.” I loved his faith in me. But I didn’t really believe. Each year, a few poems a song or two were all that went into my personal journals.
I wrote a lot of short stories but they were written with built in errors to serve as grammar exercises for my English students to tackle. Even so, the folder full of ideas slowly grew and eventually needed a big rubber band to keep it together.
Christmas was always a joy, even the year we set a $15 gift budget - $7.50 each that is! Fast forward to the years of luxury, when a double income meant the good life. Christmas shopping meant “The City” (SF) and giggling like kids as we peered at decorated windows and bought gifts for everyone. Late in the day, we sat in deep comfy chairs at the Royal Oak Pub and sipped hot cognac.
The twinkling lights, the soft jazz background music and our pile of treasure always kicked off the holidays. Then last stop of the day - North Beach - where a takeaway pizza or giant burrito would top the ritual. Old radio shows filled the hours as we shared our dinner on the long dark drive back to the often foggy San Joaquin Valley.
One December, as we settled in our favorite corner where ornate art-deco lamps cast a warm glow across the oak tables, he said he’d found the perfect pre-Christmas present for me. I opened the bag from City Lights and smiled wryly at the book “If You Want to Write,” by Brenda Ueland. I was unconvinced. Surely a writer needed a big desk, pretty notebooks, reams of paper, and a zillion cool tools - like antique pens or super-sonic moon pencils….
You know what? It only took a blank page, time, and passion. My husband was right. I could write. He gave me the perfect gift. Belief that I was a writer and will always be a writer.
Last month I bought another copy of “If You Want to Write,” in ebook format to carry it with me every day. Chapter one: “Everybody is Talented, Original and Has Something Important to Say.” Brilliant, right?
She knew what stops most writers from ever beginning: FEAR. And you can beat it. You want to write? Then start. If it’s too scary to let anyone else see it, then write for yourself.
A writer is just someone who writes. It doesn’t matter what, it doesn’t matter if anybody ever reads it, what matters is the joy of creation. Sure we leave footprints in the sand, but high tides and storms will wash them away. Don’t write for immortality. Create because it makes you feel alive. If you want to write - WRITE. I believe in you.
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