Love Lost, Such a Cost, Give Me Things That Don't Get Lost
Now here's something interesting about the way I write, discovered this very afternoon.
I have been struggling with a piece that I'm working on, an article about a friend of mine who was murdered. I've been working on it for months, but only a bit at a time because it's a pretty harrowing topic. I recently made some big progress with it and so was working on editing it down today. Honing it. Figuring out exactly what I am trying to get across with this.
This morning I acted like a skittish colt. Butt in, then out, of chair. Dicking around on Facebook. Lacking focus.
This afternoon I had to run to my son's school as I was today's mystery reader. I took that break and then came back and couldn't face my chair again. I thought about dinner. I've been thinking all day about making pasta. My husband makes a mean Puttanesca. He learned it way before I came onto the scene. And I remember being seriously impressed when he first made me dinner. What can this man not do if he can cook a pasta sauce like this?
After 15 years together, I recently learned how to make his Puttanesca. (And, no, mine isn't quite as good as his.) So after I got back from the school I started chopping olives and red bell peppers, crushing garlic and something rushed over me. A rhythm. A feeling of comfort. A reminder that I'm a woman, a mom, a wife making making dinner for my family. I'm alive to make this dinner. And I'm alive to tell my friend's story. I set the sauce on simmer and marched back up to my office, ready to re-engage. And I did, with great focus and determination.
That's a big thing for we writers to remember. Sometimes a well-timed break, that contains just enough of a step back to remind us of who we are and why we're doing this is the only thing you need to do to get back on your game.