I can do that.
I am following, admist good bad and not so pretty domestic stress, a writers series that encourages 15 habits. These habits include “must have” routines for those that write for fun and for those that are in it for more than fun.
I’m on day 7. Others, I kid you not, are finished and have started, or even finished, a book in those fifteen days.
So, my assignment/suggestion, should I choose to follow is to
a project. But start it ugly.
Make something ugly. And leave it ugly (temporarily). Be okay with it. Embrace the splotches and streaks for what they are: evidence that you’ve started. ~ Jeff Goins
“JesusMaryAndJospeh!” my mother would grouse. ” ‘START’ a project? You tell my daughter to ‘start’ something new, why not coach her on at least getting to the middle of a project and we will all sleep easier at night young fellow!”
“Well”, I am snarking back to my celestial MamaForce, SOME of us are better at casting seeds and forgetting what we planted, and much of the time WE don’t care.
(Just pictured mom and some other creative gal pals going to the other side of the galaxy for a quick, won’t kill them now smoke. They are now rolling their eyes at how much work I continue to be, even at my tender age of “old enough to know better.”)
Okay. Busted. Of course I care.
Of course I want,
sometimes, often times to be able to even remotely write here what I really mean to say and sometimes often times I get
of being too, too…worried, and uptight, and hesitant to just,
just at least pluck away at unfinished projects that I beat myself up about. Unfinished?! Ha! Let alone unexplored!
often sometimes feel like I’ve lost my creatiave young adult “all that” forever, and then blame on the kids, the spouse, the dogs, my illnesses, the weather…
If I could just,
just finish a few, not all, but a few of the unfinished projects that I don’t only believe, but know would make a difference to others. Maybe then I would give myself permission to stop pretending that I don’t care.
I don’t want to fail, I get tired of being embarrassed and making false starts, I’m concerned about the galaxies of word twisting jerks out there and not quite versed on how to handle them (familiar and strangers)…
“Hell’s bells Katherine!” I just imagined my artist Mom and designer Granny smiling with cigars replacing the smokes in their ashtrays. I’m pretty sure they just shook their heads and are now bowing them for some odd reason. Are they laughing, crying or praying? This reminds me to look at the clock.
Which reminds me to go to yoga.
And makes me wish that I had time to write more on how excited I am to try as hard as hell to remember to photo and blog the ugly clematis flower vine I made a minute ago!
Ugly is, as ugly starts.
Damn. Good words ladies, thanks!