I
absolutely love Daylight Savings Time. I stay awake longer,
wake refreshed, and find myself allotting time for this or that, and before I
know it the day gets away from me. I tell myself I will write later or tomorrow.
As I made my way to the kitchen this morning, I
gazed out the window at the faint pink sky over
the rooftops behind our house. I was determined to write a poem or a few
words about the images that awaken my senses. The promise of a sunny day makes
me feel overjoyed. The first glimpse of the sunrise warms me to my bones and
soul. I would rather be outdoors reading than inside doing anything else.
Today I have to run a lot of errands, so I know I
won't have time to write. I cannot bully myself into putting words down. If I
force myself, the writing sounds forced. I like to write when I am in my zone.
Sounds legitimate, right? How many excuses have you made NOT to write?
IF
YOU ONLY HAVE FIVE EXTRA MINUTES
today grab a pen, or pound at the computer and fill half a page with sensory detail.
Jot down thoughts about a fragrance that triggers a memory: I can still smell
the canned spray starch I used to spritz on my cotton blouses I ironed before
I left for high school.
Oh and here I've tripped my own trigger: the first
time I learned about temperature settings on the iron. I didn't reduce the
setting when I picked up my new white, silk blouse to press.
The sizzle of the
material as it shriveled and melted onto the bottom of the iron, and the acrid
smell as it stunk up the room still hovers in my olfactory memory to this day.
And then another memory is resurrected. I can visualize the linoleum pattern on the floor beneath the ironing board. I can still smell the hot Pine-Sol-laced mop water permeating my sinuses.
Won't you take five minutes, if not today, TOMORROW. Bargain
with yourself and give yourself permission to write around your busy life this weekend.
Want to share a smell memory with me?
5 comments:
Hi Linda. My writing seems to come in spurts. I've been writing, or should I say rewriting, all year. But, I don't blog that much any more. I seem to always put stuff on Facebook that I used to blog about. I love to write fiction and I can't seem to write enough - so I keep writing.
A friend and I would ride the bus to Northwest Plaza on most Saturdays. We'd spend all day window shopping... the only money we spent was on lunch as Le Soupcon. A bowl of French onion soup and a fountain Coke.
The smell of the rich broth, laced with spices and thick with sauteed onions, always tendrilled into my nostrils and made me happy.
Knowing you, even though you have lots of errands to do, you'll still find time to write.
I try to write when the mood strikes, but sometimes that is impossible! Interruptions make me lose my train of thought. But my train of thought wanders a lot anyway ...
Anything with cinnamon baking takes me back to childhood. I love it!
By the way, I just shared a blog post yesterday from Nora Roberts on my author page. She has a work ethic like no other - which equals four published books per year. Sure wish I could focus the way she does!
Pat's comment above made me think of the homemade cinnamon rolls that my mother made for our family when I was young. It was usually on a Sunday morning. She would get up early so the rolls could rise before they were baked. Those cinnamon rolls while baking would fill the house with their sweet aroma. She spooned rich white powdered sugar icing over the toasty, baked, warm tops of the rolls before she served them to us hot and delicious. We enjoyed them with tall cold glasses of milk. They were the best!
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