Apologies to the 9 people who read this yesterday.
It was supposed to be in the queue for Wednesday.
Alas.... I am not paying attention to anything it seems!
Dear Little Cuter,
I'm not going to write a book.
THERE. I said it. I don't want to do it. Not one little bit of me, actually wants to do it. I've been searching for that piece that has always thougth she wanted to do it, but when I pulled her in for closer examination, I found tht she was woefully lacking in enthusiasm for the day to day grind.
The writer in me, the Jo March in the attic, does not have the staying power for the long form. I'm happy with the essay. I have the attention span of a fruit fly; the idea of revisiting the same work, over and over and over again, was giving me agita.
And then there's the whole subject matter. I forget, as my life goes on its merry way, that my path was skewed in an awkward direction on January 8, 2011. It's not only revisiting the work I created, it's revisiting the events themselves.
It's really, really hard.
My first project on Writing My Book was to read all my posts on Getting Shot and Rehab. I was to label them and sort them that was a fine plan until it came time to start. I'd forgotten, thankfully, just how sad I was. I forgot the fear and the worry and the wonder... because there was certainly wonder in it all.
But, as Julia Roberts told us in Pretty Woman, it's easier to remember the bad stuff. That bad stuff stuck to my soul, to my heart, to my smile. It culminated last Friday on Christina-Taylor's birthday. I described it to your brother as a mini-melt-down but it was more than that. It was cathartic. I was, once again, raw and exposed. I was looking at the darkest place I've ever been, and I was flinching... and I was right to be repelled.... and I realized that I didn't want to spend any more time than I had to in that very space.
No. Not one minute more than I have to.
In Being Mortal, Atul Gawande writes about the shrinking of horizons when death is imminent. The greater world becomes less important than that which is immediate to one's existence. I think I had that kind of constriction. I don't care about spreading my tale. I care about doing good and seeing it happen and being there and sharing the love. I need the human connection more than I need a bound volume of my words.
Before being perforated, I attributed my lack of a novel to the absence of an idea and a shortage of will power. Afterwards, as everyone wondered when I was writing my book it became a foregone conclusion. Before I had asked myself the hard questions, I was looking for an agent and a publisher.
At lunch, Lady Jane asked if I wanted to write it or if everyone wanted me to write it. It was a great question. It focused me on what I want and how I want to spend my time. She lent me the book; she was living the lessons. When you have faced the fact that tomorrow is not promised, today becomes very important. I value every morning. I still feel what I felt in 2011:
The sun came up and I was here to see it. By definition, it's a good day.I'm not going to squander those good days doing something that doesn't bring me joy.
But I do have that packet of energy SIR recognized when he first talked about Project Bat Swing. It has to go somewhere.... and I have just the 501c3 for it to explore.
GRIN has a website which is sorely in need of repair. GRIN has projects which will expand to the rest of the school district this year. Pilates in the Schools will open at a new campus. I'm paying attention... but not as much attention as I should.
So, I'm changing my timeline. I'm going to make good things happen and I'm going to have fun doing it. I'm going to have small, manageable pieces, rather than weeks worth of drudgery. I'll have a timeline for you by the end of the week... just in time for you to check in with me on Friday.
THIS makes me smile.
That did not.