12/10/13

scratch paper prayers

I will sing as your canary bird. 
Take my soul and bury it in the earth.*

It feels like I do not have what it takes at all this morning. To be the writer that I want to be, to be like the other ones that I admire. It doesn’t seem like there is enough time for me to practice and get better and be able to produce anything worthwhile before I’m 45. Which isn’t so old I guess, but I would like it better if it were now. I guess that means I’m looking for recognition, for someone to acknowledge and affirm that I have a unique way of seeing and telling and that they enjoy reading my words. But that shouldn’t be why I write. at least not my main motivation. If that’s at the front of my mind then I will change and the focus of my writing will be impressing people rather than telling a good story and telling it well.

It’s so hard. I want to do a good job, the best I can. I want to create art, but I don’t want to be vain and only thinking about promoting myself. Please help. I believe you want me here, to think, to examine, I even think you’ve called me and made me to do this, the same way that you brought me John and made me a mother. This is not as important as either of those, but it’s what I’m supposed to do in addition, right? Maybe I’ve imagined that feeling and you’d be just as happy if I only cooked, cleaned and took care of my house and family everyday. But this is how I take care of myself somehow. This is the thing that fills me up. Books and other art can do so too, but they always spark something else in me, a need to go and tell my own thoughts, to create my own art.

It’s just so hard to be committed to the process, the long, long process at this point. I want the end result, to hold it in my hands and admire its accomplishment. But, no, it takes work. If it’s going to be worth admiring then it will take time to create. This is not slap-dash, haphazard and thrown together. The story must be told just so and it must be woven slowly. God, give me patience to keep at it, even when it sucks. Help me see that we can figure this out together, how to take the base form and transform it into something more lovely. How to keep producing a long rough draft and  how to continue to have faith that there will still be plenty of time to edit when I’m done.


* from Summertime by The Head and the Heart

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