Poser

A couple of Saturdays ago Chris and I went to the Tartan Day Parade, as I've mentioned before. This was to celebrate all things Scottish, like Nessie, Scotch Whisky and Scottie Dogs. Although I am being a bit sarcastic- all of these things had a presence in the parade, oddly enough.

It was a beautiful day, and a free event, so why not? Plus it forced us out into the lovely weather where Chris and I wandered the park & spent time with friends. BUT possibly my favorite aspect of the parade itself, was receiving this lovely FREE hat that read Census 2010. Several persons were strategically stationed throughout the parade route & were giving out these hats, in order to remind us all to "mail that form in!" Most people thumbed their nose at it, I however, wore one proudly.

This is what I like to call Stefani as White Trash- (wife beater and all, a real class act.) Maybe NYC's take on white trash- with the cup-o-Starbucks.

I have so many ideas right now, things to write about- things I need to write about. Yesterday, laying on my stomach at the chiropractor's office, heating pads on my back, I had so many great ideas. An opening line that somehow tumbles into the meat of the story. What I really want to say, it just came to me, perfectly. Then the close. I had a great close. But as soon as I was all adjusted, cracked, rubbed with essential oils and had paid my $15 - I was back to dead ends.

I sloshed to the C train in my boots, stood underground in a cold, damp subway station while two E trains passed and read the beginning pages of my brand new Ann Lamott book, Imperfect Birds. I love Ann. Love her. She's my favorite memoirist and truly inspires me, which is part of the reason I bought this book. It's a fiction book, but her life experience definitely bleeds through onto the pages. Reading evokes writing- for me anyway. Smells of popcorn and fried things lurked about the subway platform- the benefit of waiting underneath Madison Square Garden. Greasy food smell is much preferred to the average subway smell.

Perhaps it's in the stillness. In the wordless songs: music, beats, rhythms. Even laying there then, I knew I should somehow reinvent a moment like this for myself. Give myself the gift of quietness and music with a pulse to write by. Incense - maybe not. Some writers get all bogged down in needing the perfect setting- the lights just so, the coffee at 101 degrees, the candles all smelling of Sandalwood. I don't need all these, but I do need to set a side time. I need to set a freaking goal, of some sort and not be so hit & miss with my writing, but be more purposeful.

I don't want to be a poser. I don't want to say I'm "crunchy granola" but secretly hoard 100 calorie Oreos in my desk. I don't want to say I'm "going green" but continue to use plastic bags. I don't want to say I'm a Christian, but not love my neighbor. I don't want to say I'm a writer and not write.

Or only write when I feel I have a really good story to tell. Sometimes good things come from the not-so-exciting, everyday stories to. Like last Wednesday when my blow drier caught on fire and I went to work looking like a wet dog. And then our entire network of computers went out at work so we were all cleaning and filing and using Clorox wipes and cans of condensed air. And what started out at a beautiful, warm, Spring day looked post-apocalyptic when I stepped out the door of our offices at 317 Madison. Weird day. Really weird.

...

I don't want to be a poser.