~:: Words Fail Me ::~

Okay, I’m going to talk about writing here for a minute, because I’m supposed to be writing a novel.  Right now.  As we speak. Because G is gone south with the boys to ride bikes in the red rock (not today, of course, but yesterday and tomorrow) and I am supposed to – in this now silent-except-for-my-own-breathing (and the dogs barking to get in, then to get out) house – be able to figure out where it was I stashed my muse some five or so years ago when I used to be able to write.

another sign of spring

Way back some twenty years ago, I wrote books in the evenings when G was in the studio till the early hours, and I’d put the babies down for the night and finally – FINALLY – had a few hours to myself without worrying about what everybody else needed.

I thought this would be that kind of time.

And then yesterday happened.  I don’t remember what ate up all the time.  I got up and fed the horses.  M called in the middle of the treadmill, so I stopped doing that and talked to him.  Then I had to finish the workout.  Then Gin called.  Or I called her.  I can’t remember.  And Chaz was sick in the morning, so I took her some saltines  (I LOVE living near my kids.  Own houses, but that close.)  Then Cam called and G called to tell me they were there safe.  Then M called again and spent an hour facetiming me, which tied me to my computer, since I am too cool to buy an iPhone 4.

And it got to be two o’clock in the afternoon.  Without a word written.  Without a character engaged.  Without a mood set.  So, of course, I got out my Sneed genealogy notes and had to read through all my old research – and then just check a few things at Ancestry –

In other words.  G being gone doesn’t make a whole lot of difference, and this house is not silent, and will never, it seems, be.  And I find that I don’t want it to be.

Which leaves me dangling my talent (assuming I ever had any) over an abyss.

This morning, I prepared my SS lesson, and found myself utterly absorbed and blown away by John 5-6.  And I mean, BLOWN away.  And I wanted to write about that, but I’m shy of writing too much of my spiritual epiphany here for fear of boring everybody to death.  Then went to church and led the music and held Scooter and then went to class and danced and whirled around my students, picking them each up and shaking them out, and kissing them and casting sparkling light up in the air for them.

And now I am here.  Probably not supposed to be worrying about characters on the Sabbath.  And writing this instead.

I was going to write to you about how children process processes  – but I haven’t done that yet, either.

So I go to a sort of default.  I will show you my new felt horsie.  Because I know that he is FAR more interesting than my insights into John and the infinite.

And my crafty mess.  Yes, I have a workroom now, but my felt junk is instead spread all over beside my side of the couch in the living room.  When I show it in pictures I can see that what I feared was just a dreadful, messy, irresponsibly kept house is actually a pleasant riot of textures and silky colors (yes it is too, G.  Don’t you see that?).

But even as  I post this, I am still wearing ears that are stuffed with life, eyes that are tired, dead people unfound, the blowing gray chill of spring outside – and nowhere to go with the wistful, fantastical tale that flirts around the edges of my dreams.

Which all sounds like I should be lying on the floor sifting ashes over my head.

But I’m not.

I think I’m just amazed that I have so much that is real, I don’t have time for pretend.