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Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

As the weather here in Texas changes from “so hot I contemplate peeling my skin off” to “thank God for AC,” I too change from “if I don’t interact with the world, it can’t possibly keep spinning” to “oh, hello, world, you still there?” And it’s all in good stride because sometimes we all need to shut off the world for a few days (erm, 2 weeks).

But, as I open my eyes and stretch my limbs, I find something unexpected. A cocoon, of sorts, which allows me to keep on growing, processing, but maybe in a better way. Because no matter how good and delicious Burn Notice is, it isn’t really doing anything in the way of this crazy journey I’m on. Except, I do know that a cell phone plugged into a USB outlet on a computer makes for a perfect bug.

And so here I am. In the one city I had so vehemently sworn off with a new humility that God is indeed the point, not my affinity for a city (among other things I’d like to think are more important). And this place I am in feels nearly indescrible to everyone else, except for these few who just know without me saying. And who somehow hear, “I just got to process all this fear and heal and rest a little, so I can do that thing I need to do,” when I say, “Oh, you know. I’ll get to save money. Spend time with my family. Figure out what to do.”

And the thing that woke me up today, that made me literally stop dead in my tracks, take a deep breath, and look a little crazy by speaking out loud to seemingly nothing was God. I just stopped and said, “Ok, let’s have this conversation, I’ve been putting off.” And so we did, and I cried a little, but it was a good cry that you have with God and when it’s over you take a deep breath and think, “So this is it. This is what has to happen.” And then you just trust with your whole being and when you can’t trust anymore, you trust that God will fill in the rest.

So, that being said, I’m back. But, I’m dancing a little slower, listening a little harder, and trying to write a lot more.

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Purple Violets

I watched a movie this weekend called Purple Violets. In it a women (played by Selma Blair) finds herself in her thirties in an unhappy marriage, doing a job she doesn’t love, and not doing the thing she wanted to do in the first place: write. When her old love from college asked her why she stopped writing, confessing, he was always jealous of her writing skills, she responds, “I guess I loss my confidence.”

Hm.

I love to write. I used to write all the time. I would find myself taking notes in class, and in the margins, squeezing in poems or starting short stories. When I was in high school, instead of writing notes to one of my best friends, Mollie, I’d just write her short stories. And Olivia and I would spend hours on the phone making up stories and telling them to each other. All on the fly.

And now, I just…I get this anxious feeling whenever I try to write for real. My creativity feels blocked. And it feels too hard to do the unblocking. To write about the things I haven’t been writing about until it’s all out there. Anymore, my own stories, my own voice, has lost its confidence.

But, no more excuses. This is the year of living slow enough to hear the whispers. That voice of mine may be choked, but it ain’t dead.

I have a plan. And it will start tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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