Where the Hell Did My Muse Go?

Lately, I've been mentally berating myself for my failure to write. I tell myself, I should write a little bit, every day, just as I read a little bit, every day. If you don't use it, you lose it, right? And sometimes I sit down and work a little, jot out a few lines of prose, read through my notebook with article ideas, half written articles, poetry; maybe peruse the other notebook with my notes and partial chapters and sections for my "novel," jot down a few lines. Mostly, though, I think about writing and then get pissed with myself when I don't. After all, if my Grand Plan in life is to be a writer (and maybe actually make a living doing it), I must, Must, MUST work toward it, and if I don't, how can I ever hope to achieve my goal?

I know that I'm my own worst enemy, and if I can find something to criticize myself about, I'll jump on that bandwagon faster than you can say Jiminy Cricket. Am I fair to myself? Not always. But I vacillate, too. I should open my own breakfast house with as much as I waffle.

Today, I stopped again to consider my lack of motivation in the writing arena, and was kind to myself for once. It's been about a month and a half since I put any real effort into writing. I asked myself, "Why? What has been going on to distract me so much?" Which brings us to where we are now, and how you come to be reading this, because at that point, I started to make this mental list:

1. First and foremost, I'm a mom of two teenage boys. I help them with their homework, play board games with them, cook dinner for them, and generally try to be involved and focused on raising them to be two responsible, considerate, independent men. This takes time. And energy. And dedication. Plus, if I ever see them act like some of the guys I've dated, I'll not only be pissed at myself for raising them that way, but I'll have to smack them hard.
2. I work outside the home. My job's not bad, there are perks. I work in an Italian food specialty grocery, and there can be delicious benefits. If you've never had gnocchi with a creamy vodka sauce, you're missing out. And the portabella mushroom ravioli... white truffle purses... creamy slices of prosciutto wrapped around a hunk of asiago cheese... OK, I'm getting a little distracted. The point I'm trying to make is that Italians sure do love their food during the holidays. Take losing an employee at the beginning of December, add being extra busy, stir vigorously to make Rose busier than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest. Extra hours and extra days kind of reduces ones free time.
3. Which brings us to the holidays. I'm not particularly religious, but I still like doing nice things for the people in my life. The last few years, I've steered away from buying gifts and focused on homemade items. I'm not very crafty. I don't sew, knit or crochet, but one thing I am good at is in the kitchen. So we make candy. All sorts of divine confections. Butter pecan fudge. Almond Roca toffee. Cookie dough truffles. Cappuccino carmels. You get the picture. The problem is, we've gotten too good, and we keep adding people to the list of recipients. This year we made about 50 pounds of candy. That's a lot of fudge! Don't ask how long it took. I'm just not sure.
4. I've been just plain stressed. Amidst all the hoopla with kids, work, etc., lots of little things go on too. Housework and laundry still needs to be done. Shopping. Driving. There was also that day, a week before Christmas, when my purse got stolen at work! Here's the video, if you're interested. That was a hassle, though, between all the phone calls to cancel accounts, the police, paperwork, etc. They dirty thieves forged my signature and cleaned out my bank account! Like I said, just plain stress.

I'm sure there are more reasons, or excuses (depending on your perspective), that I could come up with. What I realized, however, made me feel a lot better.

When I write, I write for me! It would be nice if others dig what I have to say, but first and foremost, it is mine. If no one ever read what I wrote, I would still have written it, and thereby, I am a Writer. I realized, also, that I have a busy, full life! Right now, I am a part-time writer, and that's OK too. I will grow into a full fledged writer at some point, but I am still stretching my wings. I am young, intelligent and creative. I will kick ass someday. And when I do, I will be hotter than a two dollar pistol!

In conclusion, all of my fretting and stressing and self-recriminations over my lack of follow-through, has brought me here: not only did I jump back on the horse, but we followed through and got to our destination, the end of this article!

I knew I kicked ass.