"Fall is coming. You can feel it in the air in the early mornings, that chill, the presage of cold to come. The days are still hot, August sunshine ruling, but in the morning you can tell that summer is slowly loosening her grip. Not that I mind, to me, autumn is the "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" (Keats); like the author whose name always escapes me (he wrote Milagro Beanfield war and less well know, The Last Beautiful Days of Autumn), I live for fall. A few beautiful weeks every year of aspens' golden fire on evergreen mountains, a bite in the air, and, to me, not impending death and decay, but a great change in the air, a time when all things are possible. Is it a coincidence that every major relationship I've had was begun in the fall? I look towards the future and wonder where I shall ultimately live- a secluded house in southwestern Colorado? an adobe home in a New Mexico canyon? (this is the one I most frequently see, that seems most real) Wherever, hopefully it will have a view of autumn's fire.
The morning walks are beautiful now. The vacant fields have turned to yellow and brown, and as the sun comes up, they glow with a golden light, against the still dark mountains. Truly, "purple mountains majesty" and "amber fields", just as in America the Beautiful. The sun picks out a few spots in the mountains and illuminates them first. While we are still in shadow, I see dappled gold and green in the foothills. All too soon, the sun is over the horizon and the day's heat begins. Yet, I am poised, waiting. I know the most beautiful time of the year waits, just over the horizon."
I wrote that on August 22, 1993. Almost 20 years ago. I think it is good. I have always wanted to write, but I don't. Can I make myself write for 30 minutes a day? I want to try. I have ambushed myself too many years- too busy with work, relationships, pets, worried about someone reading it and thinking badly of me, if I speak the truth. But - 20 years have gone by and I need to try.
When I wrote that, I was living in Aurora, CO and was married. I can still picture the morning walks I mentioned and the fields I would walk by, heading west. Now I live in Minnesota. I am single.
Three years ago I bought a house on a tiny lake. I love Minnesota. I love my house and especially my yard and the lake. I am fortunate to have a good job that pays well. I also am fortunate to own a piece of land in Wyoming. I love the west and want to move back there, but after 12 years in Minnesota, I know that I will also miss living in the midwest and miss the gardening I can do. It won't be possible in Wyoming- not in the same way. My yard here has the best soil I have ever had. Stick something in the ground and it grows. I love birds and living on the Mississippi flyway has been a delight. My yard is full of birds, and with the perennials I planted this year, I am trying to attract bees and butterflies too. The plants are doing well but haven't seen too many of the critters yet.
I wonder if I have it in me to be a writer. Sometimes I feel like the laziest person on earth. Is it true?
I am very motivated at work. I work hard, arrive early, don't goof off or waste time, work through lunch, stay late when needed. But in my heart of hearts, I wish I was independently wealthy or had a rich husband, so that I didn't have to work. I would love to not work ! And I tend to be very lazy at home. I can sleep half the weekend, I can lounge around reading and surfing the internet and never do the cleaning, laundry or errands. I love to read- it is probably my favorite activity. And I want to write. Not sure what though. Essays, I guess, or personal experiences. I love fiction but have no drive to create it. I can't imagine how novelists do it. I've been re-reading Stephen King's, "On Writing" and trying to take it in, although he is definitely tilted towards writing fiction. I do read a lot, but I need to practice if I am going to write. I think things in my head all the time; when I am driving, or playing with the dog, or cleaning, there will be all these thoughts pouring through my head. But when I sit down at the computer I feel very stilted writing. I get all "tell" and no "show."
So, I want to try to write for 30 minutes a day- anything that comes to my mind at first - and see if I can find my voice and get some things down.
I'm wishing myself luck. I have a habit of starting, doing one or two entries, and then stopping for months. Why am I so disciplined at work and so out of control at home (re: writing, cleaning, being organized, eating, exercising?)
The morning walks are beautiful now. The vacant fields have turned to yellow and brown, and as the sun comes up, they glow with a golden light, against the still dark mountains. Truly, "purple mountains majesty" and "amber fields", just as in America the Beautiful. The sun picks out a few spots in the mountains and illuminates them first. While we are still in shadow, I see dappled gold and green in the foothills. All too soon, the sun is over the horizon and the day's heat begins. Yet, I am poised, waiting. I know the most beautiful time of the year waits, just over the horizon."
I wrote that on August 22, 1993. Almost 20 years ago. I think it is good. I have always wanted to write, but I don't. Can I make myself write for 30 minutes a day? I want to try. I have ambushed myself too many years- too busy with work, relationships, pets, worried about someone reading it and thinking badly of me, if I speak the truth. But - 20 years have gone by and I need to try.
When I wrote that, I was living in Aurora, CO and was married. I can still picture the morning walks I mentioned and the fields I would walk by, heading west. Now I live in Minnesota. I am single.
Three years ago I bought a house on a tiny lake. I love Minnesota. I love my house and especially my yard and the lake. I am fortunate to have a good job that pays well. I also am fortunate to own a piece of land in Wyoming. I love the west and want to move back there, but after 12 years in Minnesota, I know that I will also miss living in the midwest and miss the gardening I can do. It won't be possible in Wyoming- not in the same way. My yard here has the best soil I have ever had. Stick something in the ground and it grows. I love birds and living on the Mississippi flyway has been a delight. My yard is full of birds, and with the perennials I planted this year, I am trying to attract bees and butterflies too. The plants are doing well but haven't seen too many of the critters yet.
I wonder if I have it in me to be a writer. Sometimes I feel like the laziest person on earth. Is it true?
I am very motivated at work. I work hard, arrive early, don't goof off or waste time, work through lunch, stay late when needed. But in my heart of hearts, I wish I was independently wealthy or had a rich husband, so that I didn't have to work. I would love to not work ! And I tend to be very lazy at home. I can sleep half the weekend, I can lounge around reading and surfing the internet and never do the cleaning, laundry or errands. I love to read- it is probably my favorite activity. And I want to write. Not sure what though. Essays, I guess, or personal experiences. I love fiction but have no drive to create it. I can't imagine how novelists do it. I've been re-reading Stephen King's, "On Writing" and trying to take it in, although he is definitely tilted towards writing fiction. I do read a lot, but I need to practice if I am going to write. I think things in my head all the time; when I am driving, or playing with the dog, or cleaning, there will be all these thoughts pouring through my head. But when I sit down at the computer I feel very stilted writing. I get all "tell" and no "show."
So, I want to try to write for 30 minutes a day- anything that comes to my mind at first - and see if I can find my voice and get some things down.
I'm wishing myself luck. I have a habit of starting, doing one or two entries, and then stopping for months. Why am I so disciplined at work and so out of control at home (re: writing, cleaning, being organized, eating, exercising?)
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