WRITING - Aargh!

4-11-11

WRITING ALL THE TIME

Yes, I write all the time. I never quite thought about it that way, but I realize that almost every event has me thinking about how I might start a story or an essay. The way I fall asleep is to tell myself stories. Am I recreating a childhood in which my mother or father told me bedtime stories? I don't remember any such and I can't imagine either one of them engaging in warm, snuggly behavior with me. “Bert, go to sleep.” “Yes, Momma.” Truly, I don't remember any such dialogue, but that is how I fantasize about it. So, perhaps in telling myself stories I am creating that which I never had, sleepy time comfort. But, if I cannot find a bed time story it is sheer hell; my mind twirls flashing from one possibility to another trying to find a pleasant, self-aggrandizing story and if I don't I have to resort to counting, `1,2,3, up to 100 and eventually collapse into a fitful sleep.

Ordinarily, I will go into musings about how I would create a story. Once I was passed by a small delivery truck with “Frozen Food,” painted on its sides. It really zoomed by and disappeared almost in a cloud of dust. Why is he driving so fast? Is he escaping something or rushing to something? Is his cargo melting? Perhaps he overslept, why wouldn't he get up on time? Was there a body in his kitchen, but why not call the police? He was a runner for the mob boss. ETC.

I almost never follow through, never putting such imaginings on paper. In truth, I have not written a story since the Civil War piece a while back. For unknown reasons, I have focused on writing essays and because I have been reading Torah, I have done a few on biblical themes. When I get an idea going, I grasp on like a bulldog; however, I want to break away that part of me demands that I stick with it. I remember reading about how we slaves left Egypt, how we fought off the Amelekites, how we made a gold calf and couldn't get away from what seemed most likely: The story was filled with hyperbole. Slaves? But we left with herds and flocks and gold and silver “borrowed” from our Egyptian neighbors. There is more, but my point here is that when I get an idea I wrestle with it, write paragraphs in my mind and at times think of nothing else. With that piece, I tested each conjecture in my mind. It occurred to me that God was no different from the Pharaoh; they were in a battle over who was in charge. God, clearly in charge, killed dissenters, slaughtered is the better word. All whirled around and kept me awake at night.

I hoped to be selected by my local paper to write some essays for them, but no such luck. Of course, they urged me to reapply next March and I suppose I will. Headlines catch me up. The dream act failed, our state legislature shot down same sex union, why don't we raise taxes on the rich, should groceries sell full beer; all are fascinating and catch my brain but where shall I put them? What a curse.

There was an old fellow who wrote

Nothing of very great note

But he continued to strive

With ideas quite alive

But mostly what he wrote didn't float