Friday, January 20, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
I love to write.
I write for myself on a personal level.
I write for my clients on a professional level.
Ever get writer's block?
I got it this morning.
And even the aroma of my coffee is not getting me moving my fingers over the keyboard to produce anything meaningful to say.
But here is the thing....it's not because I've got nothing to say. It's because I have too much to say.
The head is filled to the brim with stuff. Thought provoking (at least from my opinion).
The heart is as well.
But it's hard to put a finger on the stuff marinating in my logical warehouse and in my emotional vault...
Well...I did it. By talking about my inability to fill a page...I filled a page.
It's kind of like rice cakes...not a lot of taste but it fills a hole.
But like I have said before...getting something on paper is better than staring at a blank page.
One of my previous posts talked about writing like a photographer takes pictures. You take hundreds of pictures to find one good one.
Write to make mistakes...and eventually you'll get something good. Eventually...
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Writer's note; A friend of mine who is going through a rough time just wrote about the beginning of the movie "City of Angels" where the question on the way to heaven was asked...'what did you like best?" Top of the head...in no particular order...here goes...
Any time or thing that had to do with my dad.
The night I fell asleep on the couch with Lynn at Tom's house.
Cleaning my loft apartment when I was moving out.
On a winter night in Rosendale, Wisconsin long ago.
The Beloit Country Club.
Anything to do with the Union Terrace.
The days when my kids were born.
My kids as babies falling asleep on my chest.
Eating food right from the fridge on the kitchen floor.
Drinking milk from wine glasses.
Making bacon/egg/zucchini casseroles.
Dancing in the water fountain.
Lying on Bascom Hill looking up at the sky.
Packer games live at Lambeau.
Jamaica, Punta Cana, San Francisco, Napa Valley.
The woman who spoke at my Dad's visitation.
Father's Day 2011.
Jack Sikma and Isaiah Thomas.
Fiddler on the Roof and Camelot.
The Summer of '85.
A Soloflex and a Barbie house.
The first night in our house in Oregon...the second time.
Morning hugs and good night kisses.
Sunrises and sunsets.
Writer's note #2: Some of these are self explanatory...some have no meaning to no one else but me. Either way...sorry for the TMI...