The kids are sleeping. The husband is in bed. I am suddenly inclined to hear what I so easily overlook- the sounds of the night.
The crickets chirping outside the window. Cars driving by. The vibrant sound of the cool air gliding across our house.
Suddenly, I take notice. I am alone. It’s quiet. Every thing feels so still.
Therefore I write….
Writing takes the edge off. It’s the peace to my soul. It’s the outlet for my struggles and wrestling thoughts.
Some call me a wife, a mom, a friend, or a daughter but when I am alone I know I am a writer.
Lately I’ve been writing something and honestly I’ve revised it twenty-five times. Somethings got to give right? I have a hunch the timing is not right. My thoughts tell me it’s because I haven’t yet learned or overcome what I want to put out there. I don’t know the answer, but a peace is not there so it will stay as a draft for now.
I feel stooped. I want the words to come to me but they won’t.
Shauna Nequeist said recently to a room full of writers, “Let your craft of writing be slow, durable, and beautiful. Don’t let your image be more important then your content.”
In other words, don’t rush it.
Instead of quitting because I feel stooped. I choose to press on, lean in, and hone in on this passion to write. Some say, “Let it come to you.”
I think I will.
Tonight I breath in a sigh of relief and I wait. I embrace the quiet, the crickets, and the vibrant sound of the wind gliding across my house. I embrace my fingers on the keyboard and the stooped feeling because this work is slow, durable, and beautiful.