On the days in recent weeks when I’ve sat down to write, I’ve been trying to write full, coherent pieces.  What I wrote yesterday is over 500 words, and I ran out of steam for the story line before I created an ending.  I think the moment is better set for a mosaic or staccato writing.  So, here, I unleash that beast.

Yesterday, I brought myself to finally bake the bacon that has been in the fridge for at least a week.  My family loves bacon, but the mess it involves leaves me procrastinating.  I pulled the bacon out of the oven, made toast, and put yogurt on the counter where we were going to eat together.  Liam came into the kitchen and said, “Wow, it’s just like Grandma’s in Iowa!”  My mom is like a patron saint of cooked breakfasts—me, reflecting on my normal breakfast prep—not so much.

On Saturday, Liam and I drove out to Salisbury Beach State Reservation, near the New Hampshire border, to go for a hike along the coast.  The tide was coming in but leaving little in the way of treasures other than the familiar mussel and clam shells.  The treasure-line thickened where the long jetty jutted out from the beach, somewhat marking the connection of the Atlantic Ocean with the Merrimack River.  It was in that nook that Liam found a mermaid purse!  I still marvel at the magic of these egg cases.  Sadly, this one had been damaged: there were puncture holes in the sides that were not hatching holes. 

Bill is traveling and will be back Wednesday, so he has missed the beginning of the Monopoly tournament, or rather the “Boston-Opoly” tournament.  Will, Liam, and I have the table set up in the basement and have played for an hour or so the last two nights.  I remember getting Monopoly for Christmas as a kid and playing a new game every morning of Christmas break with my sister and brothers.  I thought the game was pretty cut and dried: pass go, collect $200, collect rent, put up some houses, run out of money, pack up the game.  My kids learned how to play more creatively with their cousins in Iowa: “I’ll sell this to you if you let me land on it twice without having to pay rent,” or “If you don’t ask someone for rent before the next player rolls, you can’t collect,” or “I just want to sit in jail for a while; it’s safer to do that and collect rent than go around the board and pay rent.”  High rollers here. Rumor has it that Queen Elizabeth does not allow her family to play Monopoly.  I understand why as I shout, “Wait, wait wait!!!” every time someone lands on a property.  I need time to check to see if I own it and, if so, to collect rent; the boys seem to have their properties and the rent amounts memorized.  Until this tournament, where some rents are near $2,000, I never understood the luxury of sitting in jail while letting others circle the board. 

I woke up this morning before the sun came up.  The first time this has happened in a while.  Lately, I’m pulling more day out of the end of the day.  That is not me, never has been me, and should not be me.  Being up an hour or two before everyone else is where I find blissful quietude.  And with the quiet room at the library now unavailable, I made sure the dining room table was cleared and inviting before I went to bed last night.  I’m hoping to replicate the library experience: computer on the table, coffee to the right, glasses to the right, and a notebook and pencil to the right.  That notebook is for the outside world while I propagate words through my fingers in a protected space.  Should a fluttering thought enter, like making an appointment for an oil change or stopping at the grocery store for milk, my right hand can quickly jot that down and then return to the flow of words.  It doesn’t feel completely natural working at this table.  It’s round, and I usually write on rectangles.  How rigid I’ve become in the geography of where I write.  There is nothing to my left because at the library I sit at the far left hand side of the table. The curved edge of my table at home is distracting.

Ahh, I hear the coo of the mourning dove!  I was up before six and the dove just cooed.  It’s 6:25.  I win! I don’t know what I’ve won, but I do feel like I’ve won something. The dove must be the rooster of bird land as now there is quite a ruckus outside my closed window.

Last week, I started working with other local authors on a project called “Seniors Writing.”  We’re creating an introductory workshop for a local senior center to encourage the seniors to write. Each of us authors will lead quick 10-minute introductory sessions on poetry, journaling/emotional writing, and storytelling.  Depending on what type of writing the seniors enjoy, we’ll set up future workshops accordingly. 

I’m taking on storytelling with the focus of memories triggered by food. Would you like to be a guinea pig?  On a sheet of paper or on the computer, make a quick list of ten foods.  Next, pick one that jumps out at you.  That tickles your senses.  Pulls a smell from a past kitchen.  Makes your mouth water just thinking about it.  Reminds you of a friend or family member.  Now, write those thoughts down.  This can be in a list form written with crayons or markers; scattered hand-jotted thoughts on paper; or nicely structured sentences.  Follow a stream of thought without worry over punctuation or even complete sentences.  Those are overrated.  Often overrated.

If you would like to share your creation, pop your words into the comments below.  Or if you want a more private sharing experience, send them to me in an email.  Or, just keep them to your own delight.  I’m going to do this exercise as well; I’ll post mine by 6 p.m. today. 

(Well, look at that—I just gave myself a deadline! ;)

Enjoy…

(Are you wondering what mosaic and staccato essays are? Here’s my musing about Essay Styles.)