*Sorry for my post being so late. I am working on finishing my book by Saturday.
Saturday is my deadline!*
I have dumped out my garbage, the first step in Tom Bird’s book. I hope I got it all. The next step is to write my story. Before you start writing your masterpiece you create a contract binding you to working for thirty days on your writing, according to Mr. Bird. I do this and send it out to seven people. Requiring them to hold me accountable. Seven people who I feel safe with and I know will encourage me onwards. I should have my contract fulfilled by November 19th. I am pumped!
My husband is not one of these seven people and it bothers me.
I begin writing. I start by doing some mind-mapping to get my juices flowing. I put the subject of a memoir of my childhood in the middle of the page and then let topics flow out from that. I keep doing this until one of those topics cause me to write and write and write.
I do this for almost half an hour. Tom Bird says it could take fifteen minutes so clearly there must be something wrong with me. My brain eventually finds a topic. I run with it and my writing begins.
After a week of getting up to write my story I am questioning my writing. I am not sure where this is going. My ‘story’ feels more like a journal. I wake up every day at five o’clock in the morning just to bitch for an hour and a half. I can not seem to shift it to be a memoir, or account of my life in Rose Valley, or anything else. I didn’t think I would write about these thoughts. Over and over again I write about what I am going through right now. I can not seem to shake it. Especially when it is the same fiasco day in and day out. It is driving me crazy.
It doesn’t seem that long ago that I got up in the night and wrote down the beginning of what I thought would be a family memoir. Those magical words that came to me so simply. They just slipped into my brain the night Craig and I watched Eat, Pray, Love. How come words are not coming so easily to me now?
Maybe I am stuck because I allow thoughts and events to block me from letting my creativity flow – like Craig’s pressure on me. I have noticed that when I write my best it is after I have stood up to Craig. How can he affect my creativity? Or is it me affecting my creativity? It isn’t every fight. It is the fights where I make myself the most vulnerable to him. Those fights where I am strong and my heart bursts through a wall I have up. Those are the times that I feel art comes out of me – my mind is clear – and the process is easy. It doesn’t make any sense.