Tuesday, September 11, 2007


Lately I feel like I've been doing everything other than being a writer.
Wife and partner? Check
Daughter? Check
Friend? Check
Fake accountant? (I'm not an accountant, but I'm in the accounting department and they keep calling me one...) Check
Cook, dishwasher, and general household goddess? Check
Cat-mom? Check (although the furry monsters will try to say otherwise)
Editor? Check
Book marketer? Check.
Allergy-sufferer? Oh, check! That's been a big one of late.
Writer...not so much.

Oh, writing has happened. And I'm even poking at poetry again, which will be the subject of another post: why fall and spring are poetry seasons, but summer isn't.

I just don't feel like it's been my focus. I can't regret my other roles (except for allergy-sufferer!) I'm especially grateful, after all of Mom's health scares, that I'm still blessed with the chance to be a daughter. But I need to put the writing in the forefront again, because boy howdy, I have a lot to do!


At 12:00 AM, Blogger Anne Tourney said...

There's a wonderful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye about why summer isn't the season for writing poetry. Damn -- I don't own the anthology, or I'd quote it for you.

I know exactly what you mean about fulfilling every role except "writer". Why do the roles that express our inner selves seem to be the ones we neglect?


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