I write -

This week's prompt was "I write," prompting musings on process, on why we write - reminds me of the Shaker hymn "I Sing Because I'm Happy," or at least that's the title I like. So the following was the result of that - writing is a solitary pursuit, and the irony is that the group has motivated us all to write more, to write better, to write as a social pursuit - even in these anti-social times. I write sporadically, sometimes reluctantly, in the spaces between mundane chores and restlessness, fueled by wine and a stubborn resistance to anything that I should be doing. I find the computer more satisfying that my old typewriter and rarely write by hand – do we now key instead of type? I can’t keep up… But I digress. Publication – I wrote a monthly newspaper column of a nostalgic bent a few years ago promoting a year-long celebration of my hometown’s sesquicentennial, and subsequently wrote and edited a history book – you find that many folk have a storytelling talent – raconteurs who are modest about their diaries and recount charming family histories, whispers of the past in sepia and sentiment. Self-publication was less satisfying in some ways. My son and I put together a small volume of poetry with selected drawings and photos…I felt self conscious about the enterprise. An old-fashioned sort of modesty regarding blowing one’s own horn, I suppose… I used to blog, selected an arcane term for the title of the blog and no one read it, of course. It’s still out there – Zwischeraum – it means a space between the wall and an outer wall, originally an architectural term – I have no idea where I found this word. And I altered the spelling. I know that my writing buddies will look up this word and find that it should be Zwischenraum The blog can still be found at http://cosmicalice.blogspot.com/ and this group may spur me to resurrect it. I miss writing during my dry spells, but don’t do it anyway, some perversity that causes me to rebel against myself. NaNoWriMo got me started on longer pieces: besides “Strays,” I have two nascent novels: “Lead Astray”, a struggling murder mystery that won’t take shape, and a memoir of my marriage entitled “The Sky in August,” a recounting for my children, who didn’t get a chance to know their father as I knew him. “Lead Astray” involves a lead mine, thus the spelling. Shameless punning. There you have it, my friends. And I do consider you valued friends.