Day 17 – The Dance

Capturing the right words as they run through my mind is like snatching confetti from the air during a Sounder’s game. Out of the thousands and thousands of little slips of colored paper, only a few dozen float close enough for me to even try to grab one. Then the puff of air created in my effort to pinch a piece pushes it even further from my grasp. Words can be that way too. I think I’ve got a good one only to find myself pushing it away in the effort to create a meaningful sentence.

Yet, my eyes are drawn skyward to watch confetti dance in the breeze. Rectangular slips lift and spin. Some fall quickly to rest motionless on the ground; others fly higher still and drift up and up, out of sight. I’m drawn to words on a page too. Sometimes my reading falls flat. My concentration wanes, and I seem to have read several pages unconsciously. The words float by like confetti, and none register meaning. Or I can stare off into space, a blank page before me under my pen, and hunt for ideas. Words drift past. Wisps of meaning are there like smoke lasting only for a moment. Only with discipline will I catch a few and begin to scribble them on the vacant page. One by one they whisk by, which ones will remain do so as a mysterious dance between pen tip and page.

The 365 day writing journey is a walk down this less traveled road. No clear roadmap exists. The path lies dim and misty twisting off into the unknown. All I can do is sit in front of the blank page, grasp the pen between thumb and forefinger and let the dance begin.

Day 15 – Late Night Writing

Waiting until 9 pm to write is not a great idea. My morning routine of reading and writing was supplanted by preparations for a workshop for which I had logistic responsibility. Making coffee took precedence over turning the pages of a good book and setting up the day’s food took priority over my early morning writing. Now I’m left with a numb mind and a groggy disposition. I’m gutting my way through the process and wonder how many times out of 365 days I’ll leave my commitment to writing until near bedtime. I don’t have a minimum requirement for the number of words. I try to write at least 15 minutes and for no longer than 31 minutes. According to the clock I’ve met my minimum so that’s it for now.

Seedlings

Day 3 – breaking the barrier of three consecutive days of writing . . .

They’re dead. The sunflower seedlings planted on Sunday shriveled in Monday’s sun and died by Tuesday morning. I tried to revive them with a spray of cool water, but I was too late. Fortunately a few seeds remain in the package, and I can try again this afternoon.

Faithful care in the early days of any new life is necessary to minimize the effects of the environment and encourage growth. Just as babies need food, warmth and love at regular intervals, seedlings need a regular dose of water. I failed in that simple task to the young shoot’s demise.

It is much the same for me when I am incorporating a new discipline, writing for instance, into my daily routine. I must guard the time with care, not leave it until the last moment of wakefulness, and nourish the burgeoning instinct like a seedling in the hot sun. Otherwise like the tender sprout, the new discipline will wither and fade away.

Discipline

Mulligan, Day 1 Do Over - Discipline, too easily conceived, rapidly turns into unfulfilled dreams. Friday the goal to write for 350 consecutive days fizzled to a wisp of smoke like a fuse on a dud of a firecracker. The jam packed day full of wants and needs pushed out time for writing. Now I'm left with a hollow feeling in my gut carved with the knife of a broken promise to myself.

But today is a new day for crawling back on the bike. Last Wednesday I avoided a small fall by planting my left foot firmly on the ground as my front tire squeezed into a crack on the bike trail in Renton. The near miss did not keep me from clipping in and riding on. So too, I'll move forward and write a little every day. I have to write to keep ideas moving from mind through pen to page. A part of last week's failure melts with each stroke of the pen. Word by word I regain the commitment to myself.

365 Days of Writing for 31 Minutes

Day 1 – June 3, 2009

My mind and my feet spun along easily and automatically. The zone I was in surrounded me completely. I sensed time only in the periphery of movement and ideas. Ideas floated into thought like bubbles surfacing in seltzer. Two prevailed on the surface of my memory throughout the two-hour ride. The one demanded discipline and commitment. Would it last?

Yesterday a friend emailed a short article to me about committing a short time each day to work on a big project. I’ve had a long-term goal to do some writing, but not being a writer, I seem to put of “official” writing into some future time. The article quoted T.S. Elliot, “When forced to work within a strict framework the imagination is taxed to its upmost–-and will produce its richest ideas. Given total freedom the work is likely to sprawl.”

So, I’m setting a goal, a commitment to write for 31 minutes every day for one year, 365 days! I hope the discipline improves my writing and my life. I chose 31 minutes because it is small and arbitrary, just like the article suggests.