I have always had a great deal of respect for those in our midst who make a long-standing commitment and follow through week in and week out, whether anyone is looking or not.
No, I’m not talking about marriage here, although that fits the description. No, I’m thinking more of those who, with no time clock to punch, show up and follow through anyway . . . . day after day.
Writers are one such group.
I never really gave it much thought. Oh, I’ve read and heard writer interviews that alluded to the fact that writing is a lonely job. But I never, REALLY gave it much thought . . . until a few months ago. . . . when, someone who shall remain nameless, suggested that I submit a bit of writing to anewscafe.
Well, submit I did. I blathered on about a number of items that crossed my consciousness. I submitted up a storm. Prolific, she called me. Articulate, on occasion. And then . . . and then . . . a few months ago it came to a screeching halt. I’d think of a topic and as quickly discard it because:
#1, I already said that . . .
#2. That (subject) just isn’t interesting.
#3. (Here’s the nugget of truth) I just don’t FEEL like writing right now.
That’s when I began to perceive the truth of the lonely writer’s life. I don’t think it’s a matter of “being alone” as in “without company,” but rather of one being in possession of the only (I started to use the word sole. . . ) boot that is responsible to kick our own hinder side.
If I don’t sit down and write something right now, I can always do it tomorrow (procrastinate – my favorite 13 letter word). If I don’t write anything, no one is going to know or, maybe, care. . . at least right now.
Oh . . . oh . . . . and then there are the excuses. I do believe that I’ve stated in my previous writing somewhere, that an excuse is simply a skin of a reason stuffed with lies. As in: My computer is acting funny . . . . I can’t think long hand . . . . my computer doesn’t understand me . . . . I have a spasm in my neck . . . . it’s too cold . . . . I have a meeting . . . I AM LAZY ! Wait a minute, how did my grandmother get into this conversation?
It is at this point I realize that I have gi-normous respect for those who toil, day in and day out, in the field of discourse, dictum and deadlines. How do they do it? Whether it is a weekly column in a newspaper, or a monthly column in a magazine, or a weekly human-interest story on the evening news. Just disciplining yourself to sit down in front of a blank screen and cause some thoughts to appear, has to be daunting and intimidating, if not downright frightening.
Ahhhh . . . there it is: the moment of truth. DISCIPLINE. That ugly/beautiful dichotomy. The little girl in me whines, “But I don’t wanna!” while the adult that lurks in the dark corners of my mind, (leave it never be said that my adult self prances around in the daylight!) demands, “But you MUST!”
So, I hereby affirm to you that I am going to put on my big girl panties and sit down to write SOMETHING, at least once a week. Really . . . I think . . . .
Adrienne Jacoby is a 40-plus-year resident of Shasta County and native-born Californian. She was a teacher of vocal music in the Enterprise Schools for 27 years and has been retired for 11 years.
A musician all her life, she was married to the late Bill Jacoby with whom she formed a locally well -known musical group who prided themselves in playing for weddings, wakes, riots, bar mitzvas and super market openings. And, oh yes … she has two children, J’Anna and Jayson.
