Wringing

There’s no sense in lying.

I fell in strong like with this picture, and since I have to write a blog post today, I went with something that makes me smile.

No. I do not know the adorable tatted man or his puppy dog. I simply needed inspiration, and there they were on iStock.

Today is a better day coming off of a bunch of not magnificent.

So, let’s see what I can whip up amid the dirty laundry with the help of these two cuties.

Life can lack inspiration.

Every day isn’t a Pinterest board. If it were, we would all be too busy in our Manhattan loft making smoothies with our gorgeous and brilliant partner and our always-laughing, cheese board eating, friends to type one single word.

If living were picture ready, there would be no reason to explore the difference between intimacy and sex, to wonder what the hell we are all doing here or even which electric toothbrush is the best choice. Our teeth would just shine.

A quick rinse and Bam!

Sorry, I’m a bit obsessed with my teeth lately, and I’m snarky that they take up so much of my time. But I digress. (I love that phrase. It makes we want to wear an ascot and smoke a fat cigar.)

There are times when things are colorless.

When the flutter to write is missing. Sometimes I’m hungry or unhealthy. Sometimes I am writing about incredible people when the people around me are not so much.

Life can’t be deleted and rewritten. We have to hold on until reality is fresh oranges and inspiring again. Until being around those same people is new and glass overflowing.

Some of us yoga, eat, run, drink, cry, Netflix, push through these less than wonderful times. Others have the unique ability to write themselves better.

Writing is difficult for me during these blips.

Maybe it’s because I write stories of love and happy endings. I often wonder if writers of dark and murder get pissed when it’s sunny out, and they’re happy as can be.

Maybe not, they’re making things up after all.

But the root of writing has to be planted in real dirt if someone else is to touch it, smell it.

Typically, when it is raining, and I have tea, Jack, and Bruno Mars I have all sorts of things to say, stories to spin. It’s the way I am wired.

But writing isn’t always a Pinterest board either. Sometimes it is the worst argument with yourself, the problem no one can solve for you, a pit of self-doubt and feeling ridiculous.

Yeah, no one puts that shit in quotes with a stack of books and a teacup.

“Rise and shine, buttercup. That book won’t write itself.” “You know you’re a writer when (fill in the blank).”

Everything can be washed witty and light, but the reality is that putting down pure words that are inspired and lovely with the right amount of ugly, is hard work.

Sometimes it even sucks. Thank God for tattoos and sweet puppy dogs.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Tired.

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7 Replies to “Wringing”

  1. Thanks for such a real input on a writer’s life in general. Aspiring writers often ignore these phases and forget that its a challenge for them too.
    Love,
    a stranger.

  2. Gah. I hate when I can’t write. I seem to go through about half the year wanting to write all of the time, and the other half of the year I have to do other creative things because I just can’t write. It’s not quite like writer’s block, although I suppose it wouold be if I insisted on staring at the page waiting for inspiration to strike. I just go and do something else. I knit whilst watching TV or all of the films that I constantly put off watching, I go outside, I see friends. All the good stuff. When the inclination to write comes back, I have more to write about. It works for me. Except when I was doing my degree. We HAD to write, to deadlines, to word counts, Although we didn’t usually have specific topics, we could write whatever we wanted, it was difficult if I was in the half of the year where all I wanted to do was knit and paint.

  3. I like that photo too–it didn’t inspire me to write but it did make me long for a cute dog!
    Maybe if we hit the wine, chocolates and doughnuts, we ‘ll be blasted with inspirations. . . .

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