The bus stop is at the end of our driveway. As I'm waiting for Frances to get off the mid-day Kindergarten bus, I look down at my brown shoes and white socks combo. This is what I wound up with after the mad dash to the bus at 8:16...now it is 12:28 and I never gave a thought to my footwear in between. And I'm also wearing the same pants I slept in, for about the third day in a row. Now this might alarm some people, but bear in mind that a.) I am a writer and b.) I am revising.
One of my favorite quotes from
Annie Lamott is about how, as a child, she just accepted that her dad was mentally ill---he wore his bathrobe all day and hid in the study. She was almost an adult before she learned he was, in fact, a writer. Oh, that explains it. Now, if you ask my daughters what I "do," I am certain they would say "be my mommy." They might even roll their eyes as if to suggest you were dumb as a bag of hammers for asking. But I've recently met some of the other adults in their lives (over at the elementary school) who say things like, "She tells me you're a writer." Thank God, I've succeeded in indoctrinating them young! Once Grace said, "I want to be an artist like you when I grow up." That gets me all choked up. (Yesterday she learned to knit! But that's another story.)
But back to my slovenly behavior: I'm a walking fashion faux pas, my kids head for the laundry room when I tell them to get dressed (That's not where your clothes live!), I'm tempted to throw away my dishes and buy new ones, and there's a sprinkling of fragmented dry autumn leaves near every door. And this is in the name of revising. I'm revising so I can't clean. But I'll tell you what I can do...knit. I made four hats this week. Not sure, but I think that's a personal record.
Why all the knitting? What does that have to do with revising? You know that voice in your head that says,
You're messing it up or
It was good before but you're ruining it or
Your editor's not going to like this or (my favorite)
Someone's gonna write a letter and tell you this is wrong! What do you do to outrun that voice? How do you silence that censor we all have inside? Some people might do it by cleaning, and God bless them, tell them to come over to my house. But right now, I'm one step ahead of the fear when I'm knitting. Doing something with my hands is always helpful, and lately, knitting patterns that are just tricky enough that I have to count or pay attention or try something new or check off steps as I go...this keeps that analytical side of my brain too busy to hurl insults at the creative side.
So far it's working. Or is it just an excuse? When
Natalie Goldberg told her teacher that she thought she found enlightenment because when she sat down to write, she'd stare out the window instead and the most peaceful sensation would come over her...and he said, "You're being lazy. Get back to work."
