I think it's safe to say I've been suffering from writer's block for a year. I'm at my best when I have things to mock and right now, aside from my daily appearance, I don't have much to make fun of. Life is good and writing about how good life is sounds boring with a capital B.
I've toyed with the idea of shutting this down and receding quietly into a suburban life of lattes and SUVs, but I just can't do it. I know the three of you who regularly read this are breathing a HUGE sigh of relief. I hear it blowing across the dry Texas plains now.
I can't do it for two reasons.
The first is that when I am so inspired by life's ridiculousness, whether it be crock-pot meals or ombre hair, I want to capture it.
The second is that there is a writer inside of me trying to get out and I can't give up on her quite yet. It was back in first grade that I knew she was in there. During free time, I would sit down with my handy #2 pencil and write [very] short stories. Was I cool? No way, but my stories about little brothers who drove their big sister MAD made me so happy I just didn't care.
And so now, I need to get back in the saddle with little stories of little boys who drive their mommy MAD.
Long before I had children, I had a little book on my writing desk called, "The Writer's Block." It was a prop that showed the outside world how I defined myself and helped prospective home-buyers fancy themselves in a writer's haven when considering our home as theirs. I never opened it.
I found it today, battered and bruised after a few short years of co-existing with a toddler. I opened it and finally thought it might be time to use it.
So, for the next 30 days I am going to write three times a week about random, random things to get back in the writing zone. Bear with me, my dear 3 readers. I don't know what's about to happen, but I'm hoping to find the writer buried underneath babies and toddlers and marketing and household operations. She's in there and she can't wait.
PS - I loathe posts that apologize for not writing and think this borders very close to the edge of such an apology letter. I wrote it to keep myself accountable. We will not speak of it again.