the holidays almost always win, hands down. Writing a novel, an essay, a blog, most anything can’t compete with “This Time Of Year!”.
As it is, each ordinary Monday to Friday, week in and week out, I ants-in-my-pants squirm almost every minute of every hour while I pound the keyboard until I settle deep within a flurry of sentences and write like a savage beast. So, I don’t need an excuse not to write. I have a built-in ejection handle on my chair that can catapult me on to every other thing in my life including sorrow, celebration, fear, and guilt.
But “This Time Of Year!” gives me carte blanche to push away from the keyboard and ignore what’s grappling to get out.
Until I read tiny beautiful things Advice on love and life from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed. This collection of columns is a gem, but the response to a whiney aspiring writer slapped me wide awake. Among the erudite and gentle advice she spoon fed this ailing woman, three sentences stood out. I now live by the last sentence..
“Don’t write like a boy.
Don’t write like a girl.
Write like a motherfucker.”