Forced Practice

Yesterday, I tried to writes something funny. No dice. Nothing happened.  I just looked at the page. Today threatened to be the same way.  The rule about writers block is ignore it. Write anyway, even if it's just junk. So I'm writing.  Sometimes, life is like this, where everything seems so ordinary I can't find something to put onto the page that would somehow amuse, delight or reveal.

The rule of writing is open a vein, but even giving blood requires a 56 day lag time in between donations.   So I'm here trying to tap something, anything that might reveal why it is that my funny bone is awol.

It could be the pressure of work, which limits freetime.  Humor is work, but it does require time and reflection to create.  It could be the routine of life these days, which despite having ten kids, has a certain ordinariness which I feel I've already told all the stories.  We're into adolescence and middle school and high school and beyond. Those stories aren't mine to tell.  I've made a promise to them not to exploit their angst, only mine.

It could be, I'm tired and so the associative component of my brain is resting.  It could also be I'm out of practice.  I used to write three humor pieces a week.  These days, I maybe get one a week, with the other pages of the week being filled out by a published link or the podcast.

Fortunately, they keep growing.  So they keep creating new stories for me.   I started gathering the news of the day.  Paul today said, "Sheep" when we stopped at the farm. He's now using his communcation device to nag me to put on a movie.  Anna is wearing a red sparkly dress.
Regina is karate chopping her sister on the back, while John is gaming, Peter is running, and Rita is fixing a snack. Today is Faith's birthday and we're waiting for the meet to be over so we can get on to the serious business of celebrating. "There's nothing to do." one said.  "There's nothing to watch." another echoed.  "I'm hungry."  "It's too cold outside." "There's no one to play with." The chorus kept growing.  In short, they were bored.

Bored. Bored. Bored.  They begged me for something to do.

I suggested we play a game.

Now there is a debate about what to play.  For people who want something to do, they want it to be the right thing and have no idea how to get to it.

Sometimes, being the parent means being the diplomat, but today, it meant being the dictator.  As soon as I demanded everyone play, everyone found something to do that entertained them more deeply than before.   They drew.  They practiced their instruments, they shared apples and rode around on the garden cart taking turns.   No one needed any help coming up with something to do once I suggested something to do.   Paul came by, smakcking on an apple and gave me a pat on the shoulder.  I'm not sure but I think he meant, "Nice work Mom. You fixed it."

Now I sit at the table with three games no one wants to play and nothing to show for it. I have time.  I have a stupid blank page.  Theoretically, I should be writing something.  I'm still waiting for the writing muse to come play with me.

I know when I'll think of something...when everyone's home and we have something on the schedule.