Waiting for the Words
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sometimes you just have to decide: A book, this current book I'm writing, is going to take a long time. Days to conjure a single scene. More days to find the words. Many more to find the right ones. I'd been upset with myself for thinking (it seemed) inefficiently and without directed purpose, but then this morning I decided: Let the process be. Let the book find itself. Wait for the fog to burn off. Know that what I have is good, and trust more good to follow.
Live in the meantime.
How freeing it was, to decide. To say: On this one matter, at least, I will not berate myrself. I will, when I am stuck, read. I will sit outside. I will take a long walk with my son, and tonight I will join old friends at dinner and laugh until I cannot even breathe.
Now, alone in the house, I watch the clouds unstack themselves. I sit near the breeze.
Tomorrow a page may come, or it may not. That, too, is writing.
9 comments:
Maybe its good to have a slow pace to enjoy the scenery?
Have a wonderful evening and enjoy!
A perfect post. It is exactly what writing is to me, and yet it is so hard to trust in the process, to "live in the meantime."
So it doesn't matter how long it takes for it to form? Good. Then there's nothing wrong with me. :)
Yes it is. You can provide the right environment and you can show up. The rest will come in time.
This is the way it is with writing.
Sometimes the words come without effort, flowing from your hands as if they are independent of your body and sometimes, the well, she is dry.
Your Post title reminded my of that John Mayer song...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPOBMzMTP4U
Peace -Rene
I think I will tattoo this post 'round my wrist and jangle it about.
Yes!
I love your posts about the writing process. It's so interesting to get an insider's view. and the balloons are a great addition.
Oh, yay. I love this whole notion, Beth.
Fantastic.
Enjoy and savor...
XO
Anna
Love Love LOVE this post. Intention, Will and Trust hand in hand.....Lately I have been walking in the park with a pen and paper in my pocket. I walk. I look at the sky. At people. Sometimes I just stumble across a poem. Sometimes not. Then I go home, have my shower, eat my breakfast...
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