I feel like I haven't been writing the best or concentrating on this blog. I just sat here wondering what I shall write about. I need to write now because small children will be coming to my house in a couple of hours, then writing will be really hard.
As I alluded to earlier, I have had many distractions to drain my emotions. I try to rise above it. A professional should be able to do that, so I'm told. But writing is so subjective, is it not? When one thinks of writers in the past, many have drug, alcohol or relational problems.
I have struggled with that question for a long time. You don't have to be crazy to be a writer, but maybe you do. I have read many fine books written by supposedly sane, happy people. Yet, a writer lives in her story, doesn't that make you a little odd?
Think back on childhood, if you were pressured to give up your make believe friend. My dismissal of Betty Jo, unfortunately, was purely selfish. I wanted the two dolls my grandpa brought for us. Betty Jo died for a doll.
Still I remember strolling home from school by myself on a wintry day in fifth grade. Talking to a "date," I turned suddenly, sensing a person behind me. A not so popular boy a few feet behind me wandering home as well. My face blazed. I said no more. This boy never said anything about it. No one came up to me later reporting that they heard I was enamored with a mystery date.
I thought this morning as pressures don't let up, I want, I need to play. Play refreshes. I want to skip like a calf in the spring, just kicking around. I will get to play soon, I'm sure. Nothing lasts forever.
Mostly, I want, I need to write. I just hope my readers continue to have joy with my writing. Be inspired. Think of your long lost friend or mystery date. Tell me about them. It's OK. Don't lose the make believe.