Inside everyone, I am convinced, there is enough treasure worth digging out.
If we were canned, we’d use a can opener.
But we are too often stuck inside our heads, in our bellies, and in our lives.
In whatever room we sit – full of story, colored with point-of-view, steeped in experience and torn between competing desires….
Morning magic for me, is this space, this physical place in my day – between sleep and work.
Morning, where I write.
Inhaling coffee, devouring newspapers, walking, a workout, and catching up (as if that could ever be possible) on yesterday’s leftovers on my desk and in my fridge.
Peaceful here. TV off, all screens but one turned dark in this converted walk-in closet, my writing room. As near absolute-solitude I have within my control – better than dock at dawn on some glassy lake or mountain’s stony silence at dusk. Two screens on this table. Left one turned off, because passive screensaver or blank page distracts. Goose-neck light on my left is dark, my coffee mug at my right hand above my mouse-pad holds steamy black nectar – morning routine, ritual squeezing brain onto page like ripe fruit. This morning ritual has dominated my life, anchored my days; for so many years, I cannot imagine morning any other way. While it would be nice to wake up next to someone warm and willing, writing requires solitude. And silence. Zero risk of interruptions.
Indeed morning is this place. I read an article recently by someone claiming writer’s block, explaining 15 ways for struggling writers to get started when feeling stuck. I wanted to rip that page off my screen and stomp on it. Ridiculous. Who, if they call themselves writers, cannot write? Like a speaker having talker’s block. Do you ever have trouble saying something? Of course you don’t, so write it rather than speaking it – problem solved. There is no talker’s block. Which is not to say we can always avoid difficulty starting our writing about what we must write about; on those days, sometimes a warmup exercise helps, the way a singer readies their voice, the way a musician tunes their instrument.
Inside everyone, I am convinced, there are resides precious words worth writing because they are words worth reading. One person’s story, their wisdom, and their recounting an experience can be someone else’s compass, their life-line, their inspiration.
We all have so much to teach each other, we should not be silent.