I wanted to write something this morning.
I wanted to write something that sings, that makes readers say “hmmmmmm.” I know I can write that stuff, I’ve done it before but as I sat here at my keyboard my mind was pretty much undecided about which direction to take.
Before I gave up, which I must confess happens more often than you might think given my prolific number of words written daily, I glanced over to today’s morning pages and the words “flop down and do a quicky 5” caught my eye.
If I could write nothing else, I could set my timer for five minutes and see what flows off my fingers without thought, just writing and this, my loves, is what came of that setting of the clock.
I remind myself not to think for the right word, to just let my fingers go. Let my fingers go. Let my fingers be my eyes, my ears, my brain.
Catch what they want me to catch, receive it all.
I feel a tightness in my shoulders because of the height of my chair not being just right. I want to shrug and release but for whatever reason, I don’t. I just keep typing, like an automaton. I frown, wondering what is up with this?
I break the rules.
I take my hands from the keyboard, I stretch, deeply.
I readjust.
I write again. I close my eyes, breathe in and let go again.
Purple shoes with pink laces. Starbucks coffee cup with what is the Los Angeles downtown skuyline. Braids of old sheets. A painting by my friend and Bakersfield artist, Nyoka. I wonder if she has had her baby yet. Plaster white against the light blue of my walls. A black out poem.
My life above my desk.
My hands, set free.
My timer, goes off.
Not literary or creative genius, it is worth so much more than the sum of the words and sentences here. I stayed in my seat. I showed up. I wrote.
I’m even going to publish on my blog.
Why?
Because when I do the things that make me uncomfortable it has that hundred monkey effect. I do something uncomfortable with movement in a positive direction and then, poof! It is like blowing a kiss of hope and a prayer to each and all of you who are reading and beyond.
You might say to yourself, “Julie is willing to sound like an idiot so that her process may continue and her world did not disintegrate in front of her eyes, I suppose I can try that, too.”
Best wishes, my loves.
We can do this. Each and all of us.
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