They're Baaaaack

Words woke me up this morning.

As many of you have noticed and commented upon, I haven’t been writing lately. Since I started my blog, words—descriptions of what I saw, heard, felt, tasted—had been running through my head, begging to be written down. It felt like a dam burst inside me, and words flooded my psyche. During the day I heard them or felt their demanding presence. At night, I heard them, felt them, even saw them dressed in neon green, running across a cathode-ray screen. Then, after the writing workshop: nothing. Absolutely nothing. No words at all.

It has been, to say the least, a puzzlement.

At precisely 2:38 CST on November 1, 2006, words woke me up, demanding to be transcribed. The particular thing that woke me was a description of cabinet hinges in an imaginary room: cheap brass hinges shaped to imitate quality, darkened with paint to whisper of the kind of class that nothing and no one in this house actually possessed.

The fact that these words make no sense whatsoever does not matter. That I have no current need for a description of hinges—brass or otherwise—does not matter. The only thing that matters is that the words are back.

Perhaps until today they couldn’t reach me through the fear that enveloped me after the workshop. Although it was a marvelous, inspirational, altogether terrific experience, I have been afraid of writing since. Afraid that I’m not capable of writing in the way Jennifer teaches. Afraid that my writing will become a poor imitation of Jennifer’s voice rather than an honest representation of my own. Afraid my work will never measure up to the courage or the quality that surrounded me in that magical, sunlit room.

Today is the first day of November, the opening of NaNoWriMo. As the time has drawn closer and the enormity of the task I’ve set for myself has become more obvious, trying to write a novel has terrified me. Flat out scared the words away, I think. But their power, their presence in my life and my soul is so strong. Stronger than my fear, as it turns out.

Later today, I will start writing Layers of the Onion. It is now 2:59 CST and, since I dragged my laptop into my room and typed out my feelings and my fears, I’m pretty sure the words will let me sleep til morning.

I do so want to be “a little pencil in the hand of a writing God.” I want to write this story as “a love letter to the world.”

It’s an important one. It illustrates the power of women’s support for one another. It reminds us not to judge one another or ourselves. It empowers us to rise above our limitations—real or imagined. I humbly ask That Which Is to help me tell it well and for the good of all.

Back to bed with me. But first, I’m going to spend a few minutes thanking God for sending back the words. It feels so good to have them home again.

PS—My deepest thanks to all who have written or commented, expressing concern and interest in me and my work. You are part of the magnet that drew the words back to my head and heart, and your support gives me the courage to keep trying. Namaste, All.