Sunday, July 31, 2005

Thinking About Writing

There are many reasons why I'm glad I'm not a professional writer (although I have thought about it over the years), and this morning I find myself giving thanks for my decision. One of DD's frequent commenters, Christian Marcus Lyons, is himself a writer, perhaps he can relate to my sentiments. (Whaddayasay, Christian?)

Take this morning, for instance. I know I want to blog, but I truly could not think of anything to write, despite my best intentions. Instead, I switched the laundry, cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed, and walked the dogs. Granted, these are chores I planned to do anyway in the course of the early part of the day, but my mind kept saying, "Write!", and my brain answered back, "About what?"

Putting on a CD by The Crash Test Dummies, I was moved to laughter by Brad Roberts' lines:

An Old Scab
Written by Brad Roberts
Published by Songs of Polygram International/Tannerfield (Socan/BMI), copyright 1996

I sit each morning, look at my empty notebook
The room is quiet, the air conditioning sounds like rain falling
Manic-depressive composer Robert Schumann,
When he could not write, he'd get down on his knees and he would pray for help

It's not as bad as eating your own liver;
But still, I'd like to think that there are better methods

I try to tackle the page that lay before me
But then I drift off and think about the concept of Ben-Wah balls
I rouse myself and I finish washing dishes
Make lists of errands, make all my phone calls
And then I pray for help

But each time I try to make a fresh stab
I end up just picking at an old scab

I'm leaving my scabs alone today and I notice that, actually, the rain falling sounds like the air conditioner......
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