This is just to say

Okay, couldn't resist that. I love that poem, love Matthew MacFadyen for that matter.

  

. . .

 

So (with apologies to William Carlos Williams):

This is just to say 

I am not gone or sad or done or quit.

I have posted the words

(which were in my mind, last week)

elsewhere.

Forgive me.

They were reruns

And might be familiar.

...

 

This is also just to say

Sam got his braces off

Louie got a regrettable haircut along with a cut paw

& is going on 5 trips to the vet

& wearing a cone of shame and plastic boot to go out

(poor puppy)

The sun is out

the rains and floods are lifting (10 inches of rain!).

Laundry is done and folded on the window seat.

Revisions on my QP are underway

I'm prepping for a guest lecture this week

at BU School of Public Health

Maddy was just in her school's drama night

Tonight Sam has a chorus concert

Tonight there are artichokes and new potatoes and peas

and rice pilaf for dinner

The clocks have sprung forward

Spring, you are welcome anytime.

 

 

Snippets + verbs

photo via

Shivered.  It's cold 'round here.

Read.  I loved this essay by Mental Tesserae.  And this passage from One Magpie.  Kindred thoughts in both of these.

Wrote.  Posted on Segullah this week, a (religious) piece about Mary and her "how shall this be?" response. (If you've read this blog for more than two years, you might recognize the first paragraph or so...) Also, I've played around with the formatting for this blog. I've been having so much fun...like moving the furniture around without all that effort and floor scraping.

Watched.  Had a long-awaited movie date with G this afternoon. It's been ages since we were able to get out just the two of us...ever since our girls acquired social lives and obligations. (Although last night we did go out to dinner. Sam came with us and was a wonderful dinner companion.  Still. Not really a date.)   We stopped off at the Danish Pastry House on the way home to prepare for St. Lucia Day tomorrow--hooray! Now I'm catching up on emails and watching It's a Wonderful Life.  "George Bailey, I'll love you 'til the day I die." (Someday I hope my kids understand how George Bailey-like their dad is, in all the right ways.  Because he is, lucky us.)

Delayed. I have a take-home final due next week.  No headway there. Also, we haven't yet taken our Christmas card photo. Ditto no Christmas tree...hopefully Monday's the day for that.

Savored + celebrated.  Feeling really content to take my time with the holidays this year.  Each day I'm doing a little bit and shunning any guilt or agendas (trying to, anyway). So far: books, candles, garlands.  Next up: tree, nativities, presents.  Bit by bit, especially until finals are over.

. . .

Best of .09: Food.  Hmm. I think I'll dub this the year of Really Good Chocolate. Truffles from Burdick's. And Nancy sent me some decadent chocolate from a chocolatier in her Brooklyn neighborhood: the really good stuff, with interesting flavors like pepper and salt and chiles.  It's not new to me but I upped it a notch.  How 'bout you? Best new food of 09? 

Fail.

I'm over at Segullah today, writing about failure and its lessons.  Do stop by and even share a story, if you're so inclined.

There, there little writing phobia

"The angel doesn't sit on your shoulder unless the pencil's in your hand."

~ Mary Oliver

I have that quote posted over in the sidebar and on a bulletin board. But I've been thinking. Is that even true? For me?

* * *

I'm knee-deep in writing a paper for my public health class (my LAST class for my degree. Woohoo! Let's not talk about all the writing that is still ahead of me...).

I have such a love/hate relationship with writing*. I need writing. I love to have written. But it's painful. After 23 years of school (ahem. I know, makes you want to stage an intervention, doesn't it?), I'm finally okay with the way my mind seems to need to write. Instead of fruitless sessions of staring at a blank screen and panicking, I've gone with my natural tendencies to ruminate and organize and THEN write.

1. I get the assignment. Or the idea.
2. I start hating the assignment/idea but my brain starts mulling.
3. I think about it. When I'm making beds, when I'm loading the dishwasher, when I'm in the car, little ideas are floating to the top of my mind. But it counts as time working on the paper (I tell myself)! (If it's a lit review, I start reading articles and taking notes.)
4. I start jotting down random ideas. I am still terrified of actually writing but tell myself to just write whatever ideas have surfaced. There, there, little writing phobia.
5. I start organizing the randomness into a skeleton outline. Again, much soothing of anxiety and telling myself it's no big deal, just writing an outline here.
6. More thinking. I have to walk away several times (sometimes you just have to give in to the adult onset ADD) and come back and type a few more lines.
7. Finally I start writing little snippets into the outline. Again, I am really sneaking up on myself. The idea is to get everything to the stage where the writing is all that's left: the ideas, order, and structure are already done! It might look like procrastination but it's really all just my necessary prep work.
8. NOW I'm truly writing the paper, linking the snippets and fleshing out thought. Inevitably I start getting excited and it starts feeling easier as the paper comes together. (Like childbirth, I'll forget all the pain and effort of the beginning once I get a glimpse of the final product.) THEN I love writing.

So I'm on #7 now with this paper, which makes it sound really good but all that writing is still ahead. Ugh. (And, as you can tell, I've walked away for a bit.)

For the longest time I tried to force myself into the One True Way of Writing, which (I thought or was taught) was sitting down at the computer and writing the whole thing, or at least spending hours on end focused on the writing. I fought myself the whole way.

In reality, if I would have just let myself do it the way I naturally operate--small bursts of attention and energy with lots of unproductive-looking baby steps--I would have been much more productive and happy. A peripatetic writer, that's what I am. And not really a procrastinator after all--a lot of the work just happens below the surface.

So, how does your writing/project process work?

* * *

* does anyone have a love/love relationship with writing?

this was inspired, in part, by Marty's post about the writing muse. Have you checked out her terrific 12-week seminar? Try out her challenges for scouting out your muse. I think my muse hides under the covers or trembles in the corner until I've done all the other prep work. Or maybe she's around the whole time?

Things I have been doing to avoid writing a report I need to do:

sitting outside in the sun

brushing the dog

reading books

sweeping

taking a nap

going for a walk

going to the gym

searching realtor.com listings for houses in places I want to (but never will) live

cleaning out my purse

organizing my computer desktop

uploading photos

pulling a few weeds, half heartedly

watching West Side Story

thinking of why I don't want to write the report

making lists

considering paint colors for our house exterior

deciding what to have for lunch

taking myself out to Subway for lunch

watching YouTube clips from my Facebook friends

asking Facebook friends how to overcome writer's block

thinking of ways to postpone the report's due date

sorting through the fridge contents

taking kids to orthodontist

clearing out my texts

reading about dog training

googling random names from my past

laundry and folding 

watching TiVo'ed Lost and 30 Rock

and

now

this

post.

I can be so productive when I'm avoiding something.

Report is due tomorrow

Dear adrenaline, you can kick in anytime.

help. I've fallen into procrastination and I can't get up!