What Happened on Monday

My niece Emma gave a suggestion for this blog: include a few whimsical or what-happened-this-weekend posts ("your blog is cool, but sometimes it's like really deep"). Emma also made a PowerPoint presentation where she offered me new career paths (e.g., Mrs. Clause, children's book author, rickshaw operator). She's a creative, soulful, and humorous girl. This post is in her honor.

Monday was weird. It was exactly my vision of morning routine: meditation, breakfast, free writing, work on my book that's not a f***ing book. Yet my words felt forced and my mood dark. So I took a walk with my camera. (Yes! Take a break and do another creative activity. It's all part of my vision.) The weather was cold and windy. My hands went numb. I shot a few photographs and returned home. All day this tape played in my head: my writing voice makes me want to vomit; it's always the same--blah, blah, blah; this is torture.

Later, I wept on the stairs described my discomfort to Mark. His response: "Isn't that what all writers think? In fact, doesn't that indicate you're actually a writer?" In the midst of my doubt attack, I smiled then laughed. My husband is observant and funny. (Maybe he should be the writer.)

That night I spoke with Emma on the phone. In a previous email she asked, "Have you published a book yet?" After rich and varied conversation, I mentioned the book--no, I haven't published anything, but I have topics and notes for nine chapters. Her enthusiastic response: "Really?!" Yes, it's the book about life + photography. "No, I meant the children's book." Again, I smiled then laughed. She shared helpful advice: children love bright colors, curvy lines, and inanimate objects that talk. (Maybe she should be the writer.)

Besides all the laughter, there is some good news. When I danced around my living room to loud music I felt no doubt or judgment. Do you think Florence & The Machine needs untrained yet spirited back-up dancers?