What's A Writer To Do?

For the first time in forever, I heard it.

The faintest of whispers, it flittered thru my brain like a hummingbird zeroing in on a flowering delicacy. It buzzed about, hither and yon, until finally it left me no choice. I had to sit down...

...and write.

Oh, how I’ve missed you, My Muse, My Muse.

It’d been so long. Too long. This terrible time when I’d begun to fear I’d never pursue my passion again. Life got in the way. Emotions ran rampant. And writing’s been the LAST thing on my mind.

I've felt so guilty. I’ve deserted my blog, backpedaled on a commitment to document “26 Acts of Kindness.” I struggle to edit my WIP (work in progress) although I'm still plodding along. I’ve considered entering the weekly writing challenge at FaithWriters, but dismissed the notion out of fear.

Occasionally I stop by my blog only to be taunted by the theme: “Writing Without Fear…Courageously Sharing With the World”

 

*eye roll*

I’m a writer. It’s what I do. But lately it’s just not there. Have even tried forcing it.

Didn't work out so well.

It feels like my muse has abandoned me, disgusted with my whining. You’d think he would be a little more understanding. Is it my fault that life has gone awry? I can’t help the fact that when emotions explode, my creative brain cells flee.

Really it’s quite a shame since there’s been a lot of material: Betrayal, grief, and emotional roller coasters. Pain and suffering. Drama and trauma. All the stuff good novels are made of, eh?

Maybe someday I’ll tap into it. But for the moment, the mere fact that I’m getting words on paper (fingers on keyboard) is amazing.

The elusive muse clamored for attention quite unexpectedly after many months of turning his back on me: He made an appearance while I was cleaning house. I barely recognized his voice and just for a second, entertained the possibility of ignoring him.

Tit for tat.

But in the end, I didn't dare, fearing he might never glance my way again.

And now tears threaten to blur my screen and words swim like a school of goldfish.

But these are happy tears instead of the pain-filled episodes of past months.

My muse doesn’t hate me.

And I can only hope he will show up again soon.

Maybe we can begin to repair our relationship that has been so damaged by circumstances and life.

If he’s willing, I’m in.

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26 Acts of Kindness: #5 The Dress

A year ago, I went shopping on my birthday. I’m not really into the whole concept, but decided to do something different and jump on the “act like a normal female” train.

I wandered through a store, feigning interest, picked up a few things, and promptly put them back.

Then I saw it.

A filmy, little lavender print dress that would be perfect for Easter. It was kind of a youthful style, but heck, it was my birthday, after all. And why shouldn’t I be a little daring? A little cheeky? 

A little…younger?

Of course, when I got it home, it was a little tight. A little sheer. And more than a little too short.

What was I thinking?

I hung the bag on a door knob with every intention of returning it sometime. And a year later, it was still hanging there.

 

Usually I’m way too practical to buy something and not return it if it didn’t fit. But since I bought it out of town, it never happened. So I decided to be on the lookout for someone to give it to.

One Sunday morning, I decided to take it to church as I had an idea of a young lady that might like it.

But it didn’t feel right and I returned it to the door knob. Then at the last minute, snatched it up and threw it in the car.

I was settling into Sunday School, chatting with friends, when a gal I know came in, along with her teenaged granddaughter.

And I knew exactly why I’d brought the dress.

This teenager occasionally comes to our class. She always sits quietly and never says a peep. I had no idea what her name was or anything about her life. (I suppose I could have talked to her, but I don’t tend to be teen user-friendly.)  What if I offended her with my offer? Or worse, she thought I was some kind of nut?

But none of it mattered, my urge to give her the dress out-weighed any trepidation. After church, I handed it off to her grandmother. And later the girl came up to me and shyly whispered her thanks.

                

Maybe she didn’t like the dress. Or it didn’t fit.

Maybe she loved it. Or gave it to a friend. Or had a laugh at my expense.

Guess we'll just never know.

In Honor Of Sandy Hook Victim

Charlotte Bacon, Age 6

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26 Acts of Kindness-#4 *Cha-Ching*

When my church started a baby bottle fund raiser for the local pregnancy center, my brain issued an AOK (Act of Kindness) alert.

*Cha-ching*  (Pun intended.)

So I bought a bottle at the dollar store and began my quest. We had the month of February to collect spare change, but I had a problem: I rarely have cash on me. And really rarely have silver.

Oddly enough, I found myself breaking dollars just so I could get silver. And occasionally shoved in green money.

I left the bottle on the counter as a reminder as time tends to slip by. And every time it caught my eye, I'd start to fuss, wishing I could do more.

My paltry offering would be fairly insignificant. Onesies, diapers, and assorted baby paraphernalia is all expensive.Then there's the big stuff like cribs, bouncers, and high chairs.

Could contributions such as mine make any difference?

But then my wandering thoughts meandered in another direction: To those that might be helped.

Compassion Pregnancy Center sounds like an awesome place. Their web site details assistance with pregnancies, options for  adoption, counseling, and of course, help for those in need of baby items.

Every time I added to my bottle, I envisioned a young girl picking up supplies. Or a woman sobbing in the arms of a counselor. Maybe a teen, stunned with the news of an unplanned pregnancy.

And I quit questioning the merit of my small gift.

And stuffed in a few more bills.

In honor of Sandy Hook Victim, Emilie Parker, Age 6

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