|Resisting the paparazzi. July 4, 2014|
I know how Stella feels. There are so many things I "should" do--or even "want" to do--that provoke serious resistance in me. Whether it's exercise, or eating right, or the proverbial cleaning my room, I feel like I'm twelve and a half and find myself having to be my own parent--or, worse, just giving in to the "can'ts" and not doing anything.
Writing, unfortunately, is one of these things. Although I identify as a "writer" and a "teacher of writing," and there is nothing like the feeling of being lost in language and in the flow of creation, I admit that I do not always see putting words on the page as a fun and exciting activity.
|I hate my notebook|
Last time I replenished my cheap spiral supply I decided to upgrade and ended up with this lovely monstrosity. I liked the color. I liked the rigid cardboard backing. I liked the sturdiness of the spiral wire, which surely would resist the squishing and unwinding and snagaliciousness I'd experienced with the cheapies.
Here the problem: I hate it. It's too nice--too sturdy, too big, too many pages. It's narrow rules, so it fits too many lines per page. If I follow Julia Cameron's dictum to write three longhand pages every morning, no matter what, I have to write and extra half page, at least, than I would in the old cheapies.
Truthfully? Dear Notebook, it's not you, it's me. I'm feeling frustrated with myself, my lack of discipline, my misuse of precious free time, my inability to write about anything important, anything clear and powerful, anything other than how much I hate you.
Let's call a truce. I will give you more attention if you will stop being so daggone intimidating. Let my pen flow over your pages. Let me stop after only two pages instead of the requisite three--and let me go beyond those two when I am on a roll. Let me ride the wave of words and get into the flow space, where time disappears and I am purely in the moment, purely myself or someone or something outside myself.
I CAN. If only for a little while. If only.