Harvesting a Story

Pumpkin muffins are cooling on the counter.

A candle is burning...a hot cup of coffee in my hand.

Rain is sputtering out my window and lots of colorful leaves are falling to the ground.

I know what this means. 

Fall is saying goodbye.

And I'm melancholy working on my short story.

Trying to do what Anne Lamott teaches in "Bird by Bird," which is to develop your characters first and then let them dictate what the plot will be.  But it's hard.

I've lived with these characters for a little while.  I take them on my runs with me.  I think about what they eat, who their friends are, what makes them belly laugh, what secrets linger in their souls that they don't share with their closest confidants, who they want to be when no one's judging them, what lies in their pockets, which street they live on and who loves them.

I've got a pretty good sense of who they are as people, but it's who they are to each other that seems to be the challenge.

That, and trusting that their connection will converge a tale worth spinning and sharing with at least one other person in the world.

And this is when I want to stuff a million M&M's into my face and scream, "Writing is stupid.  It takes too much time.  No one cares.  It doesn't pay the bills.  At it's best, only a handful of folks appreciate it.  And, woe is me."

Ridiculous, I know.  It's not finding a cure for cancer.  It's not mentoring a child.  It's not shoveling a walk for an elderly neighbor.

It's writing...a short story for God sakes.

So as the leaves continue to fall, I quietly beg them, please hold on...just for a few more weeks.  Stick with me and inspire me.  Help me to see these people come to life and to know what and who they are to the world...much the same as I'm trying to figure out my own place in the grand scheme.

And let me be patient with the unknown and the unseeable and trust in Nietzche:

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”


Here's to harvesting a story.

Beauty Amidst the Chaos

I love our mail carrier.

She always has a smile on her face, kind words for my children and wonderful, sage advice.

About a week ago, while getting the stroller loaded to head to the park, she and I had a nice chat.  She shared that she is a mother to six grown children and a grandmother to nine beautiful little ones.

I was lamenting that it had been a day and that I just felt overwhelmed by it all and subsequently, appreciated her smile and kind eyes.

She told me that the one thing she was always grateful for was that she didn't have a clean house, but most of the time had happy kids.

"I never missed going to the park or the pool to put the laundry away and if my friends happened to swing by unannounced, I never apologized for the streaks on the windows or the sticky prints on the door knobs.  And as I look back, I don't regret the sacrifice one bit.  Now is the time to have fun.  When you're old like me, you can clean the house.  Or not.  It's overrated."

And so, I took those comments to heart and informed my family that for the last week of summer, we were going hog wild...swimming, reading at the library, checking out new digs at Fontenelle Forest, having tea parties with friends and eating macaroni and cheese to our hearts content.

And my house has taken a beating, but there's a weight lifted off of my shoulders and thus far, no one from Child Protective Services has ushered my littles away.

To prove that I mean what I say, here's some documentation to help you be thankful for your abode.  You're more than welcome to hang out at mine, you just might not be able to find your way out...but I promise that when you do, you'll have a smile on your face.

Here's to the last three days of summer....