I love to write, and I want to write well. I want people to read what I write, enjoy what I write and come back (regularly) to read and enjoy what I write. Most of all, I want to write. I may not post well written thoughts, stories or commentaries all the time. In fact, I may not post every day.
The more I blog and the more I read other blogs, the more I want to do better with my writing. There was a time when I would just put pen to paper and let the thoughts flow freely. Nowadays, I find I want to tweak my writing and give it time to breathe, letting the thoughts swirl around in my mind for awhile before I try to siphon the words onto my computer screen. By the same token, if I let the thoughts swirl around for too long, my mood plummets.
I try to write at least three times a week. I find that if I write less than three times a week, the stories in my head become tangled up and twisted, and I become cranky. Such was the case this morning.
Late Saturday, writing topics started rattling around in my mind; by Sunday night, the topics were increasingly restless. When Monday arrived, I knew my time to write would be minimal at best. Shortly after sunrise, Monday’s sunset arrived, leaving me with no writing time. This morning, the stories in my head were threatening a coup. Upset I was missing my writing time, I snapped at my kids and my husband.
While taking the kids to school, I was trying to calmly corral my thoughts. I reached a setback in my calming attempt, when I noticed I left Joe’s lunch at home. *frickin* *frackin* Thankfully, Daddy was working at home, so I called him and asked him to meet us. After I dropped off Charlie, Joe and I met Daddy and got Joe’s lunch. Grumbling a thank you to Daddy, I continued my journey to Joe’s school.
While driving along a curvy two lane road, I noticed the car in front of me slowed, then quickly swerved to the left and went on his way. A car was coming in the opposite direction, and I noticed he was slowing down, too. At that moment, I realized there was an animal in the road running around crazy. At first, I thought it was a goose, and I wondered why it wasn’t flying away. Then I realized it was a turkey, and I stopped the car. (Yes, I know. Turkeys can fly.) At this point, the oncoming car passed us, so Joe and I were alone with the turkey.
The turkey hesitated a little, unsure of our plans. I didn’t budge. Using his bird brain, the turkey seemed to understand I was going to stay put, and he started to cross the road. Joe and I laughed and watched the turkey trot clumsily to the other side.
That turkey wanted to get to the other side, desperately. Oblivious to the world around him, that turkey was determined to get across the road. But, he was surrounded by chaos, created by cars coming and going. Though his determination could have been the death of him (literally), his patience was greater, and he crossed the road, safely.
I am like that turkey. (Oh hush!) I have wanted to write for three days. Trying to desperately to find time and focus on this thought or that thought, my attempts were thwarted by the traffic in life. Just as the turkey did a dance of crazed frustration trying to get around the cars, I have been doing my own crazed dance of frustration trying to get my thoughts into my blog.
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When I was in high school, I started working for an owner of an art gallery. In the back room of the gallery, a poster hung on the wall. The poster had an excerpt from a book written by Robert Fulghum titled, “All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.”
Prior to seeing the poster, I knew nothing of Robert Fulghum or his writings. However, I fell in love with the simplicity of the excerpt from “All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” Here’s a link to it: All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
Shortly after seeing that poster, I began my search for Robert Fulghum’s book, which was released in the late 80s. My quest to find Fulghum’s book was a tedious task, because it took place in a time when one had to search for books using card catalogs and drive to brick and mortar stores/libraries. For whatever reason, my search for Fulghum’s book took three years. (Seriously.) Since then, I have purchased all of Fulghum’s books. (My search skills have improved, too.)
Fulghum is to me what Lewis Grizzard, Erma Bombeck and Ludlow Porch were to my parents. Like Grizzard, Bombeck and Porch, Fulghum is an author, a humorist and a columnist. Unlike Grizzard, Bombeck and Porch, Fulghum is still alive. Like Fulghum, I am still alive (woo hoo!), and I enjoy writing simple, short essays about the nooks and crannies in life. I try to be humorous, too.
Now for the finale. How do I tie together an encounter with a turkey, my love for authors like Fulghum, my own love for writing and the crazed crankiness that strikes when I am unable to write? I haven’t a clue. As a result, I should be embarrassed by this 1,000+ word essay. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I needed it. The turkey was not graceful as he trotted across the road, but he got to the other side. I was not graceful with my post tonight, but I was able to write. Something tells me Grizzard, Porch, Fulghum and Bombeck had days like mine. Definitely Bombeck.