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So, here I am...
14 Aug 2000 - Morning
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I have the timer going and I must write until it goes off.
Usually I write this by hand in a journal. I do three pages, just like Julia Cameron suggests in her excellent book The Artist's Way It takes me around 30 minutes.
So I figure I can get more done on the keyboard than I can by hand. Let's see what happens.
I don't care if I never get a comment. I'm not doing it for anyone. I'm doing this for myself. There's bound to be mistakes and typos. I shouldn't worry about them. I don't usually when I write in longhand.
The morning got off to a bad start. I let the kids sleep in and then motivating them was tough. I've been wasting a lot of time making this journal look nice. I could've spent that time writing instead.
I refuse to wallow in that guilt though. I'd rather use my energy for more creative things.
I have so much to get done and so little time. The lament of every mother.
But I've been forgetting to look out for myself lately. I promised myself to visit a friend today and I shall. She's had her fourth baby just recently and as I was too busy to go to the shower, I bought her baby a present and some for her other kids to. just so they don't feel left out.
I'm cold from sitting here so long. My fingers are icy and I feel the swirl of air around my face and feet. It reminds me of the mountains.
I lived near the mountains for so long. I miss the feeling of mountains. There's something stirring within whenever I look at mountains or when I'm up in them. It must be power. Yes, I believe the mountains have power. Like massive stone giants they overlook us and protect us. I was always aware of this power.
When I first remember visiting a mountain I breathed in the clear air and knew I was home. Closer to heaven or simply the thinner air. it makes me feel light -headed and thrills my blood.
I love to swim in a cold waterhole in the mountains. I love the lush greenness and the smell of peat and sound of dripping rain as it spatters the rain forest canopy. It's a safe sound a reassuring sound. I think of the humidity and the sweat on my lip. The crisp tang of clean water as I sip it. The fresh embrace as I slip beneath the rippling surface. I love the feeling of swimming naked.
If you're reading this and you've never done that, swim naked, then you must.
There are several things everyone should experience and skinny-dipping is one of them. There's nothing quite like the freedom of swimming through the water unhindered by clothes, or tight swimwear. It's liberating and sexy. No one knows you've got nothing on. It's an experience for more than just your senses. It's a personal thing, a little enjoyment. perhaps it's one of those things we were meant to enjoy and because of conventions, etc, we don't.
I look forward to the next time I can go swimming naked. I'll probably have to wait til the kids are out of the house for the day or week. maybe the next time they go to camp.
My hubby enjoys it to, but he always wants to make love. Not that I have anything against making love, I can't really get enough of that. It's just that I don't always want to make love when I do something I enjoy. I love to be kissed and cuddled and simply enjoy that.
When was the last time we did that and it didn't lead to sex? I can't even remember. In fact when was the last time we had sex? He enjoys tv and staying up late. I don't really enjoy it. I sit there with him just to be with him. If I want to do something else he acts all injured, like I don't like his company.
It's no this company I avoid, it's the box.
He can't understand that I never turn it on in the daytime at all. It's an obsession with him and he won't admit it. He won't accept that it overshadows his life and rules him. But lately I've been getting tougher.
It must come with age. The older you get the more you're able to communicate what you really want out of life. That makes me sound like a coward. I've rarely done anything I haven't really wanted to, but the longer he sits and rots in front of the telly, the less I want to rot alongside him.
I do love him. He's a great guy and I couldn't ask for a better husband, lover or father to my children. He's just doing that typical male thing. They get stuck in ruts.
So, I say to him I'll be writing instead. He's learning to not pout about it. he'd say 'I don't pout,' if he saw that. But that is the beauty of the diary. he won't be able to read it.
I don't know why woman are more resistant to ruts? Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. It seems most guys do. They go to work all day in a hostile environment and when they come home they want to relax with the people they love. I don't work outside the home, so when it comes to the weekend, I just want to get out. The kids do to. They want to live and have fun. I hope he can come and join us soon. He does when we ask him, but wouldn't it be great if he suggested it himself?
I feel this half hour is going a long time. I'm probably wrong. I'm looking forward to a quick shower and a natter with my friend. We haven't caught up in ages. Not that I'll be staying long. gee it's only about 15 minutes til I find out who won the challenge. As soon as I sign out of here I'll be over there to find out who was voted best story.
It was really tough this time. It's been tough before, but the discipline of writing ashort story every week is making better writers of all of us. I read all the entries and sighed. Who do I pick?
What I did was jot down the names of the ones I liked the best. There were about five that really stood out. then I simply eliminated them through a process of which one kept me reading, captured my imagination, used a fresh and original voice and used a plot. It doesn't mean the others didn't. it just means that i had to pick one. It'd be nice if I won/ I'm not doing it to win. I'm doing it to improve my writing and I believe it's doing that.
To get around 15-20 people to read your stories is excellent. not that many of them offer much in the way of feedback. They're mostly beginners, I think.
But the one I came second in went excellent at the readings I attended last week. there it goes.
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You can email the author at bookworm@deardiary.net
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