I’ve been more in a reading mode. If I read, I can think about what others have thought of instead of being inside of my head. I think that’s safer for me now. I just finished Anna Quindlen’s newest novel, every last one. A tragically sad novel that ends with a tiny thread of hope. Another excellently written novel. But in reading the interview with Ms. Quindlen at the end, I related so strongly to her own style of writing, in which she states, “I would say my most pronounced writing habit is trying not to write.” I so get it.
I am fully aware that writing is such a huge part of who I am, that when I don’t for days on end, a part of me tends to begin fading away. Kind of like Alice when she was disappearing. Or the cat. I’m not even a fan of Alice in Wonderland. Too many strange comings and goings there.
I’m a writer. Lately, I’ve tried hard not to write. What’s up with that? I could stop several times a day and just write my thoughts and feelings, and it would be like lancing a wound. Ugly metaphor, but sometimes metaphors are. So I’m getting back on the bandwagon (Have you noticed lately how many people begin their answers with ‘so’?). Short stories, columns, editorials. Time to get the words outta my head and on the page. Time to fight our habit, Anna.