Writing is not my life.
It is part of my life –
a part that I love and crave and enjoy.
But Living, that’s my life.
Working and playing and eating and cooking
and praying and reading and studying and serving
and singing and rejoicing
and loving
and laughing and crying
and exercising
and struggling
and even cleaning (sometimes)
and driving all over town
and moving across the living room with the sunspot in the afternoon.
And putting words on the pages.
Lots of words.
Sometimes bribing myself to stay in the chair,
Just two hundred more words.
Just one thing that makes you laugh.
Just one more hour.
Then you can have the thing you’ve been waiting for.
And other times,
magic times,
losing hours in the dance of creation.
And remembering that if I’m a writer,
I am also so many
other things. So many -ers.
And those things, those labels, those actions
and thoughts
and attempts,
and the ME that grows out of them,
and the love
and all those living parts,
that’s what I can write about.
Every day.
(8) Comments for this blog
🙂
Beautifully put, my friend. I’ve never understood the “hermit writer”. If I didn’t get out there and do my life, I’d have nothing to write!
Why is this making me cry? Is it because I hear you? I’m so glad I have you to explain what I’m feeling to me:)
You inspire me!!!
Love it.
And I like how DeNae called it “doing” her life.
This was so, so poignant Becca. Moved me to tears, even.
You’re not just a writer, true. But you ARE a fabulous one.
I love this post and that living is your life. <3 <3 <3 So awesome. =D
I cannot live if I don’t write and I cannot write if I don’t live. Not my words but definitely words that fill me. You have always been like light living life. Lots of L’s but apt.