Wow! It is as if this book fell into my open, hungry, hands by fate. The creativity gods deemed me worthy enough. I fell into Julia’s journey eager enough, most definitely starved for answers, and my mouth hangs open with a bewildered feeling. They are simple, modest as she promised, sections. She writes with excellent eye for detail. But more so…she is seeing into my mind, my heart, even my soul. I instantly bonded with her. She was 35, which is my age. The book was began at the end of winter and the opening of spring, such is the case for me…now. She had just finished a difficult book *check* and it left her feeling ‘stale and flat *check* and oh how each and every word she writes I nod my head again and again.
She states she wasn’t in a deep despair but called it cynicism. I can relate, yet again. I feel skeptical of my ability to continue. She says it is “a cheap and shoddy response to a life we are afraid to love because it might, for a time, be painful.” I don’t want to agree about that pain but it is there. The pain of not writing. The pain of being a writer, the pain of living a writer’s life. It is indeed painful.
Her inclination to write 3 pages everyday led her to writing more. I will admit, I am hesitant to even try but I will. I’ll go so far as to admit it will require discipline, to write those three pages every day. But I will do so. At least long enough to finish this book and perhaps see the answers to my questions, find the missing whatever.
She claims one cannot just give up on their artistic calling. I would agree with her; Lord knows I have tried more than a time or two. I have been given my first task (from her book). I will set to doing this tomorrow, knowing I shall not read the next chapter until I have completed the task. And my goodness….I cannot dare to NOT continue reading to see what happens…to see where it takes me.
The next morning….
Okay, so I wrote my three pages. Nothing spectacular. But that’s okay. At least I showed up.
(the tortured writer)