Ever since I jotted down my first Christmas letter, I've enjoyed writing. In my work, I was responsible for writing many policies and programs, communications and correspondence. And now that I am retired, I would like to use writing as a channel for my "creativity", whatever that means. It's a term my ya-ya and I throw around a lot, because now we have extra time on our hands. But, as I am just beginning to explore this notion, a couple of little questions have been bugging me.

The Report Card

     How do people come up with good ideas? And how can my relatively intelligent brain be so bereft of them? I did dream a great idea once. I distinctly remember waking one morning and scrambling to write down my dream...in it, I had choreographed the most amazing dance number. As I reconstructed my night ramblings, however, I realized that the reason the dance was so amazing was that rather than high kicking one leg, I had figured out how to high kick both legs at the same time. Really? One great idea literally flat on its ass! 

     Once in awhile I do get a good idea in the early morning hours while I am still snuggled down cozy with my husband and the dogs, wandering around in my own head with nowhere to go. But alas, there is a problem. I think to myself I'm gonna get up and write, right now while I have these good ideas. But first, I need to brush my teeth, take a bath, make the bed, do my yoga, dust the coffee table, pick up the dog poop, trim the Bougainvillea, go to the Post Office, organize all of my photos since 1967, and obtain a post- graduate degree. "Why is that?" I ask myself in a Carrie Bradshaw sort of way.

Let's evaluate.

A. I am a world class procrastinator

B. I was born without a creativity gene

C. I have a dreadful fear of failure

D. I have a dreadful fear of success

E. I am in the beginning stages of senility

The Answer: F. All of the above

 
Except maybe for E. I could be in the advanced stages.

     Every single expert on writing says you must write something every single day....even if your house is blowing away in a tornado. Yes. Grab your laptop, crawl under your dining room wall, and just do it! "Discipline", they say. Chop-chop!!

     This one I should be able to handle easily. I believe myself to be a very disciplined person. After all, I remember to eat every day, don't I? Of course, I bought more than one gym membership and never saw the inside of a locker room. And, in spite of extensive training in daily flossing, that waxy little string cruises between my bicuspids only twice a year for the benefit of my dental hygienist. Still, I should be able to write something every day.....I could fit it into the time I'm supposed to be walking the dogs, but am instead drinking coffee and critiquing my pedicure.
 

     When I was in Heaven, waiting to be born, during the "Personality Characteristics Sign-Ups", I was probably so absorbed in the choices at the Food Preference counter, that I forgot to fall into the Original Thought line. So, when St. Christopher said it was time to travel on...well...I crawled under the cabbage leaf equipped with a robust appetite, and the tools required to be a responsible citizen, but sadly, in my skill sets, where making up stories and using my imagination were supposed to be, there was just a little hole.

     Reading is my passion. I have read every book I could get my hands on since I was five years old. I read every Nancy Drew book. I read James Michener's "Hawaii" when I was 11 which I pretty much understood except for the part where the man really liked it when the lady put her head under the covers. I've read historical novels, hysterical novels, murder mysteries and science fiction. My point is, one would think I could easily sketch out a story. Sorry. I guess for this one I will need prayer. Yeah, that's it. Prayer that God will send down an angel to fill the sad little hole in my head with plot lines, dialogues, themes and characters. 

     But, here is what I love about writing. Writing. My Ya-Ya, Judi, who makes her own cloth and paper  (yeah, I know, don't get me started) points out that this is our seventh decade and so should be "our" decade. We have raised kids, worked for 40 years, and tended to the world. She tactfully left out of her pep talk that this could also be our last decade. 

Well, I can't throw a pot on the old ceramic wheel, or weave my own wall-to-wall carpeting, but I do know a subject from a predicate plus my husband bought me a new laptop for my birthday.  So here I go.

     It is my time...and I'm well into autumn. Bye-bye ancient insecurities, I say, and hello a little frickin' faith in myself. I cannot please everyone, and most of them don't deserve it anyway. I would rather focus my energy on observing and writing about the absurdities, poignancies, and delights that keep life interesting. Maybe I can find a story in there somewhere. It is time I put up or shut up. And, if it turns out I get a D on my report card instead of an A, I will just have to resort to my Junior High school tactics for saving an Algebra grade. Study..........try harder...........then beg and plead.