Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Monday, August 29, 2016

Squandering time and Treasure

It's  been more than a year since I last posted to MomSequitur, so long a time lapse that I cannot remember if the name of my blog is two words or one, if the "M" and "S" are even capitalized.
It's been almost four years since I traveled alone to Peterborough, New Hampshire, to live in a cabin in the woods, to write and read all day, to have NO distractions, no daily-life getintheways.
My time spent as a fellow at The MacDowell Colony was a treasure. Meals, lodging, all accommodations: paid for. I got the credit card out only for air transportation there and returning to Kansas City. I think I bought a Colony t-shirt, too.
Never more prolific, I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and produced poems and essays and short stories. I outline a few novel ideas. I got a lot of shit done. DONE.
And now, one, two, three, four years later, I write nothing. I take care of children in the morning and in the afternoon, before school, and over the summer, every single day, which about killed my spirit and 51-year-old body ... a death to spirit only in the sense that langston hughes wrote about deferring his dream. I love children and when I am in their presence I laugh and sing and feel delight and meaning. But no writing gets done and my soul talks to me all sarcastic:like: So, this is what you're doing with your MacDowell experience: you're grilling cheese sandwiches for germ donkeys and playing endless games of Monopoly Junior.
She's right about the non-writing.
I have to remember the gift of time and space that I received from the Colony. I must honor that treasure, stop squandering it. I must get done that which must get done.