Friday, March 19, 2010

He's on my side

You think he's not listening to what you say and he goes and surprises you with just how much he has absorbed.

When J was arguing with his Mum about the way we are bringing up Sophie, he was saying everything I always told him - all the reasons we have her on a schedule, all the reasons we give her a well-balanced diet (suitable for her age), all the reasons for how we behave with her. As my words were coming out of his mouth, all I could think of was how much I loved him for being on my side.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Warm and fuzzy

So proud of Sophie. She was a little angel today when we went to J's parents. On the way back, I looked at the backseat of our car and she gave me the biggest smile. It filled up my whole body with glowing warmth. Then J put his hand on my lap and all I could think of was how lucky I was to have this family.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Finger-tied

I miss writing. Simple as that.

You know that feeling when you're tongue-tied? You want to say something but can't find a way for it to come out?

That's how I feel about writing. So much I want to express but an invisible wall of self-consciousness and doubt is holding me back.

So what do I do? I read. Although I've always been an avid reader, I haven't ever read as much as I've read in the last few months. Instead of reading free newspapers on the train, I have been reading novels. I even managed to complete One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

I used to write stories. Poems and screenplays too. Now every time I open a new document, I stare at the empty screen and can't find a way of getting past the first page. My stories have no middle and no ending, just beginnings.

Meg Cabot, a popular author of many kids, teens and adults' books, explains that in order to have a story you need a beginning, a middle and end. So obvious and simple. Yet so hard!

I can't seem to find a fictional story to write about. All I can think of is what happened to me and I don't want to be writing any autobiographies.

I want to write something
But nothing comes to mind
Not a bit of inspiration
Not an idea of any kind.

Maybe one day it'll come to me
And everything will be clear
I'll find the story deep within me
And create it without fear.

Did I mention I have a thing for rhyme?