Today I picked up four decent assignments for paid writing, with the potential for several more. I’ve felt the Resistance to it fiercely today too. I don’t know if it is that I’m feeling sluggish from the holidays, or the weather outside (blizzardy with a -20 F windchill), honestly it’s not all that bad inside. Except it feels very nappy. And the new season of Letterkenny just dropped…there I am, procrastinating again!
That is why I’m here right now. Maybe if I can get my fingers moving, and my brain braining I can actually muster up the fortitude to write about piano moving in Raleigh, NC. Some of these requests are really detailed and, well, I’ve got 1000 words to write on the subject.
Yesterday, I wrote a heartbreaking scene in my book. It was also about moving, and that time in your life that every parent dreads, when you have to pack up your kid’s stuff. Those of us who are adults have been on either/both sides of this. That day came for many of us who moved out of our parents’ houses and left behind all those trappings of childhood. The band posters, the collections, the drawings, or model rockets, scads of little green army guys or matchbox cars, comic books, the video games, the toys we hung onto like packrats. Maybe of us went to college (or just grew up and moved away) and went on to other things. Maybe we got that call from a parent one day where they said with so much sentiment:
“What do you want me to do with all of your crap?”
I’m kidding, but I know for some of us, that was the call exactly. For others of us, our parents might have had a hitch in their voice when they said it, trying to be brave. I’ve been on both sides of it. First when my folks asked me to get my boxes of stuff I had grown up with the hell out of there to free up some space in their house…and then with two of my own kids. Only they didn’t want the stuff. So, sometimes the stuff goes into a bag or a box for storage, or sometimes the clothes or stuffed animals get donated so other kids can enjoy them and bring joy to their lives. I held more sentiment in their things than they did. Those things meant something to me. I still have boxes of drawings, books, the odds and ends of costumes and other keepsakes. I couldn’t bear to part with them.
It was a hard chapter to write, I will say without going into too much detail. You’ll have to read the book.
That kind of writing fuels my soul…this kind of writing puts money in the bank until the stuff that fuels my soul can get published. Both are necessary. It is a balance. But try telling that to the Story when it has its nose pressed up against the window, doing a pig-nosed blowfish on the glass, saying “Hey! Look at me! That other stuff is booooooorrrringggg!”
Yes, Story, I know it’s boring. But it has to be done!
Anyway, just priming the pump today. Onward and upward.