Saturday

I don't have much to write about today. Same old, same old Saturday.

Chores of course will fill the hours, in particular, the loads of weekly laundry. How can one person and one imaginary friend possibly have three loads of it.  I suppose I could cut it back to two, but having been brought up to divide loads, white (hot water), colored (warm water), and dark (cold water), my conscience will not allow me to do that.  Fortunately I can regulate the amount of water each load takes, that helps.  Anyway, today will be a lot of jumping up and down, changing loads.

However, that's not my problem today, what is, is having something to write about. I wonder how in the world famous columnists manage to keep their writings fresh day after day.  I'm thinking about those of Erma Bombeck and Bill Bryson status. They've always been my favorites, and have brought me many a smile, and sometimes many a tear.  It always amazed me they could take the most simple subject and delight millions of people every day.  I wish I could do that...maybe some day (I hope).

Writing has always been a mystery to me. I start with a blank page, and hope a word, something will inspire me, and maybe that word, that something inspire somebody else as well.

As a novice, I tried to get published, but learned long ago how hard that is, and since I hate rejection eventually gave up trying to be so. As a result I threw away all my rejection letters and decided to write for and satisfy myself. That way I could be joyful, sorrowful, angry, melancholy, fearful, playful and write about whatever feeling possessed me any particular day.

I began to take writing classes to 'hone my craft', I learned some writers acquire what they call a muse.  I chose to be a little different and have an imaginary friend named Frankie, and a shoulders sitting angel and devil who help me stay on 'the right track'.  Recently all the above have been joined by a pixie, and I'm not exactly sure how she's going to work out...I must confess, she skirts on the edge of danger.  They've all come in handy when that blank page is staring back at me mocking, intimidating, snickering, wanting me to fail.

What makes a writer endure in moments of despair?  Perhaps the fact the words we write might brighten a reader's day, give them words of encouragement when they are most needed, or perhaps let them know they are not alone in some dark hour.  I confess writing brightens my day, encourages me when I need encouragement most, and lets me know I'm not alone in my darkest hour, as word after word fills the blank page, and spills out the moments of my life.