Seriously, I Do Have Fun

What to write?  What to write?  ARRGGHHH!!!!

I’ve been in a rut, lately.  Not really a rut.  A non-writing rut?  Not writer’s block either.  More like writer’s smorgasborg.  So many things to say, so little time to write.  I have many drafts going on a variety of different things, but I read ‘em over and think….nah, not today.   

So little time to write, and yet I write drafts, I have several different journals going, I’m writing emails….if I’m not writing, I’m THINKING about writing.  During the day, when I’m at work, when I’m trying to concentrate, I find my mind wandering to what I COULD be blogging about, developing ideas for short stories, dreaming up characters, imagining and embellishing someone else’s life….

I’m overthinking is what I’m doing.  Or I’m overthinking about several things at once, which I think is causing something to go PFFFFT in my brain.   It’s as if my synapses aren’t clasping together like they should.  My husband, a truly gifted writer, displays that rare combination of authenticity and ingenuity  (aka real smart)……tonight, during our daily evening call (can something in the evening be daily?  Because I’m thinking daily happens in the daytime, every day….what do you call something that happens daily in the evening?)  he suggested that I write something lighthearted and fun, just to get me back on the writing track.   And as I thought about it, my posts are generally serious, emotional searchings…..the books I read are generally serious, emotional searchings….my work is generally serious…….ok, there’s a pattern here.   

Fun.  What is fun for me that I can write about?  The first thing that comes to mind is sex.  Because if you can’t have fun when doing that, then what’s the point?  Sex is a celebration.  Celebration = fun.   See?  I knew I had it in me!  Ok, more fun stuff…..let’s see… ok….uh-huh…..ummmm….I’m drawing another blank.  Geez.

Let’s see if I can change directions a little.  Think lighthearted, think fun.  I could write about celebrities.  That’s always good for fluffy interludes in between reading about the race for the U.S. presidency, and the kerfuffle over the Minister of Foreign Affairs’ latest paramour…..wait, no, that won’t work….they’ve all become celebrities, or at least they all play the part.  Think fun. Lighthearted.  Like the cover of a widely-circulated magazine with the initials V.F., that recently had a teen singer/starlet with the initials M.C. on its cover, a 15-year-old half-dressed sickly looking child, who was photographed by a respected photographer with the initials A.L..  The shoot included pictures of the child with her achy-breaky father, posing a little too suggestively together, in fact they looked more like boyfriend-girlfriend than dad-daughter.  Way gross.  Other pictures of M.C. alone were provocative and obviously sexualized.  The controversy surrounding this whole thing is mystifying to me;  I mean, come on, people!  Did you not see this coming?  Another case of irresponsible adults…..ok, I’m going to stop now because I’ve crossed the fun-threshold line and waded into the realm of seriousness.  Sorry.

Maybe a little brainstorming on fun would help, a sort of fun-stream-of-consciousness.  Here we go…… Fun is Snoopy.  I love Snoopy.  I had a Snoopy lunch box in grades 1 and 2.  That was a fun time in my life, we lived in a small town, I was seven years old, everyday was sunshine and friends.  I did have a mean second grade teacher, though, Mme Morrissette.  She was always screaming at us, and this was back when teachers struck kids however and whenever they pleased.  One day, we were writing in our scribblers, and I guess my handwriting was not up to her standards.  She marched me to the front of the class and whacked my palms with a ruler several times.  Then she made me stand in front, holding my scribbler open with my reddened hands, as an example.  Every student was then instructed to file past me to look at my awful handwriting and my sore hands.   It was a long ten minutes, standing there, unable to control the tears.  Humiliating for me as well as for the other students.  I was a shy and quiet kid who liked school, and even if I was loud and obnoxious and hated school, I didn’t deserve that treatment.   So, Jeannine Morrissette, if you’re out there and happen to read this, you were the worst teacher I’ve ever had.  I hope that by picking on me that day, another kid was spared something worse. 

Ok, THAT was fun!

Maybe I’m getting too hung up on what I think I should be writing, instead of just letting it flow.  Or I’m thinking too much of what to write that will please you, without balancing it out with what pleases me.   Or I’m expecting too much of myself, wanting that first draft to be the one and only, and expecting the ideas to manifest themselves consistently and without fail.   If you write it, they will come.  I guess the only way to curb the overthinking is to keep writing. 

I think I’m back on track, baby. 

Love,

Chantal xoxoxoxo