What's Your Point?

In my defense (always great to start on the defense) while my blog has seemed silent, my "pencil" hasn't. Over the last 3 weeks, I have stayed true to my challenge of April 12th's blog. I have edited a personal narrative written back in 2002 and have submitted it to a collection of stories. I have contacted a PR firm in Evanston seeking a PT Writer (10 hr. a week from home) and submitted samples. Just last night I completed yet another personal narrative about Harper's birth (minor edits aside) and will be sending it off to a company seeking stories for a collection geared towards new mothers.

And as I wonder if I too have a bit of ADHD in me, I laid awake last night composing a story called Fringe. After being knocked flat with a sinus infection this week, I hadn't the energy to get up and jot down notes, but I do believe if I were to just start typing today, without self-editing, I could retrace my mental steps.

So, only 3 weeks after stating my "dream" (ugh, there goes that word again. I just can't seem to state that word without a bit of a cringe. It's a problem with my perception of the word, rather than the word itself), I have indeed been writing.

George has been running.

Harper joined a softball team (not soccer, but so much better suited for her).

And Zane has successfully taken out 3 vampires.

Look at us!

So, last night, I did a reading of my new story, "Flood", for everyone at dinner. Harper was flattered that I would write about my birth experience with her (I didn't use her name in the piece) and listened very intently. She was impressed.
She came downstairs later that night when she was supposed to be sleeping. As if knowing I would chastise her for being up, she announced, "Wait! I need to read you my story!" as she descended the stairs. Indeed, she had been up in bed WRITING A STORY.

I love mom beczus of her story. I can not bulev she put me in her story. I love her varey much. I can not beleve she is raiting storys. It is like so cool. I like the sect [second] story the best becus it has me in it. the End.

This comes a few days after receiving the following:

Dear Mom, thack you for bing the best mom in the wde wrod! I like having a mom like you. I like your crazy hiae doo. Love, Harper.

So do our actions rub off on others? Does our personal inspiration inspire others?

Seems that way.

If you know me, then you know that I have a great love of popcorn. It is one of the foods that I refuse to share. Don't even ask. I will make you your own bag, but don't touch mine. Popcorn and Buffalo Wings are my selfish foods. Get your own. Last night I was popping a bag of corn when Harper came down to read to me . . . I was so distracted by her sentiment that the microwave popcorn bag burned so badly that even this morning the house still reeks.

My little writer disappeared upstairs after her reading and we thought she was off to bed. Nope. About 20 minutes later we hear crying, "Mommy!" She is crying, whining, really, and is terrified. Apparently, while writing, she had stuck the pencil UP HER NOSE (I know, HELLO!) and the tip had broken off inside her nose. She couldn't get it dislodged. She was freaked out.

George ran for a flashlight.

I tried to keep her calm and told her to try and blow out although being nervous and crying, she kept sucking IN!

Finally, I closed off one nostril with my thumb and yelled "BLOW!"

Out came the sharpened point of her colored pencil drenched in snot.

We all stared down at it and broke into laughter.

Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.

That's my point. I'm writing from my life experience. These are my truthful daily musings. They are real and they are mine. I share them as I would share myself when on stage. On stage, you are fully out there, body and soul, for all to watch. As cheesy as it sounds, the paper is my stage now. I think I'm more honest and real on paper than I ever was on stage. For on stage, I second guessed myself, I edited, I censored, I questioned my choices. Writing is much more freeing for me. I'm certainly not as self conscious on paper as I was on stage (except for when I played Lucy from You're a Good Man Charlie Brown . . . she is the only character I really believed I completely conquered, both times I played her). I may have come across confidently on stage, but there was an element of fake out. There is no faking it here.

I love playing myself now . . . through writing.

I'll try to keep the pencil out of my nose.