8:38: When I stop writing.
I was carrying the bucket, whose bottom sloshed with dregs of muddy water and sand, up the stairs.
Mop in one hand, rags in the other.
What had been in there? Maybe sand and dirt-caked socks or gloves.
Maybe a size 18 months pair of pants that had been unlucky.
Either way, it hadn’t got rinsed out properly.
It had been rinsed out along the lines of “good enough.”
Like many other things.
The toilet, for instance.
Or the tub.
I put down the bucket and the mop.
I picked up the rag and held it under the faucet; under water set to scalding.
That should do.
Then I scrubbed the detritus of our mornings, our daily constitutions, our late nights; threw the rag away.
Today was filled with chores, plus some fun thrown in. I’m heading to NYC for a conference tomorrow, and leave the house at 5 AM to catch my bus. But I made a goal starting yesterday to write for fifteen minutes each day, No Matter What. Could be a grocery list, a poem, a few paragraphs of who knows what. But I would write it daily. And then decided to start posting those writings here. For no other reason than the obvious — I have a blog, man!
So the poem above is maybe about my chores, maybe about just calling it “good enough” to write something, anything, on a consistent basis. You decide. I may post some things I’ve written earlier, but only if I choose to rewrite or edit them during my daily fifteen.
The storyline for a novel I mocked up for my online writing course back in November keeps nagging at my mind. I lay awake in bed sometimes wondering what my main character would be doing now, or would have done if something specific happened. And I worry about her. A lot. I guess that’s a good sign. But I keep hesitating to pick up the pen and move her forward into her story. I doubt whether I can be as creative as needed for that fiction stuff. Would I just end up documenting my life as if it’s some kind of parallel universe, with better hair and sex? Or would the story stand on its own and you’d get to know the characters and they’d be people you could have met yesterday on the bus.