new habits, new writing commitment
Here I am, day 1 of a new habit – writing during nap time in attempt to take this whole writing thing seriously, build a career out of it, perhaps, despite the fact that I am at home with someone who still naps.
Writing, perhaps, is one of the few “jobs” where you can create amidst the very real chaos, that any sort of professional work you produce is literally bumping up next a laundry pile and perhaps, a mound of chopped celery.
Not that I would know anything about that.
But – it’s the truth, really, for artists. For anyone who creates – chaos is part of it – the chaos of the mess it takes to create (think about painters, I think also about my non-edited first drafts) anything, really, that takes creation takes a mess to make, including beautiful cakes. There are egg yolks and runny cake batter sitting around in a sink somewhere.
I don’t know why you create (oil paintings, babies, dinner, a carburetor) but for me, it’s order, it’s to make order and sense out of something as flotsam and random and full of odd-shaped puzzle pieces that the magic and confusion we call life.
It’s to make sense of it, to try and figure it out.
It’s to taste life twice, to not only understand the set of unique experiences I’ve had, but to understand others, to build empathy, and to, somedays, to create whole worlds for my children while I silently pray in my head that they go to sleep soon.
My art is writing.
And it’s not to be lofty, it’s not to isolate myself, and I wish I could say I took up writing out of boredom, but no, it’s not.
Writing has chased me nearly all my life, with something to say, something to tell.
And now, finally, it’s time I sit and listen to the story.
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