Saturday, March 5, 2016
Here I am at my parents’ house writing. Not necessarily for my blog, though I did save this to my blog writing folder on my hard drive. No, I’m free-writing for myself. Journaling. In the traditional sense. To ease my anxiety. To use some of the energy that my cup of coffee has juiced me with. I care not how I write. I try not to edit as I write. Instead, I write to let the tension flow out of my body, through my fingers and onto the page.
Yes, I’m writing in Word, not WordPress where I do most of my writing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still write for an audience, not just for myself. Then again, I even daydream for an audience, as if I am performing, public speaking, addressing someone else. That’s how I think. I am a performer at heart, ready to please, though I often do not – no, not often, sometimes. I sometimes do not please, even when I try, for I have little in the way of filter. The words come tumbling out and sometimes I walk on toes not meaning to.
Anyway back to myself. Or perhaps not back to myself. What sort of writing would best help me now? A friend of mine, a former boyfriend, a poet, once suggested that instead of doing so much journaling in first person (which, yes, I’ve done over the decades intermittently), that I write in third person. Write as if I’m writing about a character. Distance myself from the content. Make it into a story.
Interesting idea. Not sure if I will do so now. But perhaps I will in the future.
What stresses me out at this very moment is not just what I have on my plate with regard to my parents, their property and their finances, but the reactions of those close to me to the risks involved. My husband Nick worries about lawsuits and cost overages. My sister asks shrewd questions. They have our interests at heart, but to the extent they are stressed and worried, I must not just address the valid arguments they make, but handle and assuage their anxiety.