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.

Riding in the Rain

We were already planning on going for a bike ride after mass.

The big kids wanted to have a Nerf gun war in the park and Claire was hell bent on riding her bike for miles.

As we walked into the door and started to change our church clothes and grab a quick sandwich, the sky turned dark, the thunder started to rumble and it was only a matter of time before rain and probably lots of it, was on its way.

I began to back track..."well, maybe we can make tea and read," to which, "BOOORRRIIINNGG," was their collective response.

"Come on, mom, it's not like it's acid rain.  It won't kill you.  Who cares if we all get soaked and muddy and struck by lightning.  It will be an adventure."

When did I become such an old fogy?  I mean really...the whole point of childhood is to splash in as many puddles as you can, to get as dirty as humanly possible and to soak up as much of the outdoors as you possibly can before you're forced to come inside when the street lights come on.

Okay, I relented.  Let's do this.

Moments after we left, it down poured.  And like a dip shit, I was wearing a white shirt and mascara, so I looked like a heroin addict, but no one cared.  That weren't looking at me.  They were being amateur snipers with their Nerf guns.

And then, going down a gravel patch by the park, Kate slid, fell off of her scooter and scraped the shit out of her knee, arm and hands.  And I thought...see, it's too slick. What were we thinking?

Assuming that we'd head home, I turned the corner to see Kate talking.

"What's up, Love?"

"Nothing.  I'm just talking to myself.  It's the best way for me to communicate what I need.  So, I'm saying, 'We should really go home now.  My knee is bleeding.' But the other part of me, the fun part, is saying...carry on, carry on.  Do you ever do that, mama?  Talk to yourself and decide what's best?"

"I do it all day long, Sweetheart."

And then we both looked up to the monsoon sky, stuck our tongues out and felt the rain.  We laughed.  I kissed her arm, her elbow, her knee and then said, "well, what are you waiting for?  Carry on, carry on."

So glad that for a few hours, I won the wet t-shirt mom concert at the school playground deciding that riding in the rain was the best decision for just a few hours on a Sunday afternoon.