The Writer’s Life—Part II

So…did any of you write anything, today?

If you did—fabulous!  If you didn’t—fabulous!

Whatever happened or didn't happen, today, let it go, for IT no longer exists.  Just start where you are…right here, right now.  There is no yesterday; there is no tomorrow.  Only right now.  No fears, no regrets, no hopes, no worries—just this moment...for this moment is, in fact, the only thing alive...well, in this very moment.  I find "right now" to be so utterly fascinating and illusive.  And, yet, it's right here, too.  By definition.

So...write, my friends…

At this point, it matters very little what you write or how “good” or “bad” you might think it is.  Banish the latter judgments, if you can, but don't fight with yourself over them too much, okay?  What matters is that you write.  And that you invite "YOU" to come out to participate.  Not that you have to respond to the invitation or, even, look out through the little peep hole in the door.  All that’s needed in this moment is that you begin to write and that you, as you're writing, sincerely ask the you that lives inside you if he or she would like to come out and play for a while.  The important thing is to be sincere in your invitation and to do so with a smile on your face.  That way, should you just happen to spy yourself out through that little hole in the door, you’ll see a friendly face smiling back at you.  The face of one who very much looks like someone who'd be very happy to see you and to spend time with you should you decide to open the door...

Again, feel no pressure to respond, though…just receive the invitation as simply that:  an invitation.  Something that you can think about and, perhaps, even consider to be “a very welcomed thing” to think about.  Invitations can be like that, you know?  They can be a lot like smelling the aroma of a pecan pie that’s baking in the oven.  Sometimes, it's the inviting aroma that makes us aware of just how hungry we are and of just how satisfying it might taste and feel to eat a slice right from the oven.  No fork, no knife, no plate—just the sheer pleasure of eating it with our hands and then licking our fingers clean.

In the mean time, while you’re thinking about it (and, I hope, enjoying the smell!), perhaps you could spend a little time writing about the kind of atmosphere you’d find appealing enough to actually coax you to come out and play with words and thoughts and feelings for a while.

Happy writing...

Daver