My queendom for a meme!
Spring has saturated every tree under my window, quickly drenching the tender shoots and leaves in a green that spangles in the sunlight like sequins.
It reminds me that I have grown to love this place, even as I continue to miss California and the other places I have lived. TEG teases me because I call about eight places home—NYC, Chicago, Austin, Bombay, California among them. But, inevitably, I fall in love with the area regardless of where I live (my LA suburb being a notable exception. I love the nightlife, I want to boogie). This place will always be special, though, because it has been the stage for so many of Madam’s firsts—she first crawled here (while we were visiting—suddenly she started scooting around the hotel room), walked here, and I fully expect that she’ll talk here as well. This was the place where she discovered the Joy of the Swing and Slide, not to mention the sheer celebration that is a puppy romping by the lake.
So. Things are good. And that makes me realize that all of the writing books (not to mention Tolstoy) are right—conflict is interesting. Happiness, at least for the outsider, is a tad on the dull side. Even to me.
My days are like prayer beads—long walks, sunshine, coffee. I never thought that such a quiet little routine could be so enjoyable. Barring the twice-daily tantrum, it’s just…peachy.
Peachy does not make for good blogging, I find. When I started this blog, I was desperate—to find a place where I could respect my own thoughts, however crazed and sleep-deprived they were. And it worked wonderfully—I had so much to say! And the more I said, the more I had to say! Hurray! Deep thoughts for everybody!
Well, mysteriously, the desperation is gone. I am not sure why, exactly. I am reading a great deal. Not writing at all (or very much). I believe this novel is going to be shelved, at least for the time being. I know that we’re supposed to push ourselves past resistance, but I have never been SO resistant before, so I am trying to honor that—at least for now. My dreams are rushed, full of crowd scenes. But none of that is really translating into the sorts of Big Thoughts that make me rush to the keyboard.
It’s ironic that all of this happened while I was working through a book called “Finding Water”—which, alas, has not helped me to do that. At all. I just couldn’t connect to this book—to most of the books I am reading lately, to be honest. I enjoy them wholeheartedly while reading them, but it’s as though my mind has become a mirror—as soon as the book is put away, the words slide away.
Is this my version of Spring Fever? The inevitable result of almost two years of severely disturbed sleep? Encroaching shallowness? The Decamping of Deep Thoughts?
Not sure, but I’m not really even worried.
Which, of course, is what worries me.
It reminds me that I have grown to love this place, even as I continue to miss California and the other places I have lived. TEG teases me because I call about eight places home—NYC, Chicago, Austin, Bombay, California among them. But, inevitably, I fall in love with the area regardless of where I live (my LA suburb being a notable exception. I love the nightlife, I want to boogie). This place will always be special, though, because it has been the stage for so many of Madam’s firsts—she first crawled here (while we were visiting—suddenly she started scooting around the hotel room), walked here, and I fully expect that she’ll talk here as well. This was the place where she discovered the Joy of the Swing and Slide, not to mention the sheer celebration that is a puppy romping by the lake.
So. Things are good. And that makes me realize that all of the writing books (not to mention Tolstoy) are right—conflict is interesting. Happiness, at least for the outsider, is a tad on the dull side. Even to me.
My days are like prayer beads—long walks, sunshine, coffee. I never thought that such a quiet little routine could be so enjoyable. Barring the twice-daily tantrum, it’s just…peachy.
Peachy does not make for good blogging, I find. When I started this blog, I was desperate—to find a place where I could respect my own thoughts, however crazed and sleep-deprived they were. And it worked wonderfully—I had so much to say! And the more I said, the more I had to say! Hurray! Deep thoughts for everybody!
Well, mysteriously, the desperation is gone. I am not sure why, exactly. I am reading a great deal. Not writing at all (or very much). I believe this novel is going to be shelved, at least for the time being. I know that we’re supposed to push ourselves past resistance, but I have never been SO resistant before, so I am trying to honor that—at least for now. My dreams are rushed, full of crowd scenes. But none of that is really translating into the sorts of Big Thoughts that make me rush to the keyboard.
It’s ironic that all of this happened while I was working through a book called “Finding Water”—which, alas, has not helped me to do that. At all. I just couldn’t connect to this book—to most of the books I am reading lately, to be honest. I enjoy them wholeheartedly while reading them, but it’s as though my mind has become a mirror—as soon as the book is put away, the words slide away.
Is this my version of Spring Fever? The inevitable result of almost two years of severely disturbed sleep? Encroaching shallowness? The Decamping of Deep Thoughts?
Not sure, but I’m not really even worried.
Which, of course, is what worries me.
Labels: navel gazing
posted by Anonymous at 11:28 PM
8 Comments:
Glad to hear you're feeling content -- but I know what you mean about it not making for good blogging! Same with a steady writing routine. If I'm getting a lot done, there's not a lot to say at the end of the day! I feel so out of touch with so many bloggers though, you included. Been thinking about you. Hope all is well!
It sounds like you're listening to your inner voice and doing what it tells you feels right for you...and what could be better than that?! :)
Oh how i totally understand. My blogging has just not been the same since Tag moved in and my homelife became cuddly and content (as opposed to alone and full of angsty writing time).
Missing you and wishing you the best.
Eh. None of us can be All Deep, All The Time. I can't either. My gosh, I get so SICK of myself when I am on that kinda kick. *raspberry*
But sometimes I am so content my blogging is a little dull. I get that. Totally. But I think it is right to be where we ARE. You might be happy to find where your happiness takes you. ;)
:)
perhaps you are just more quiet because you're incubating something, something that's not quite in your consciousness yet, but takes up your creative energies? everyone has quieter periods and it sounds like you're enjoying it, so don't worry about not worrying. go with the flow. :-)
How interesting that you should write about this, when I, who have been complaining mightily about the fact that I have no time for anything finally find myself with some "down time" and am already feeling those little twinges of restlessness and boredom that will lead me to eat potato chips and drink to much wine.
Life is definitely a paradox, isn't it? And it's all about balance, I guess, and somehow miraculously achieving the right one.
I think contentment should be relished - and even your self-proclaimed shallow thoughts draw me back again and again just o hear your honest, instantly recognisable voice. You are always a writer to me no matter what you wrtie or whether you write at all.
There's much to be said for contentment - and the slight boredom that comes with it. Don't worry - it doesn't last forever. ;) Even though it may not seem like it, deep roots are growing that will bear wonderful stories later.
Post a Comment
<< Home