Today I was amazed to discover a new follower of The Write Life, since this blog had been stagnant since April. In fact, I seldom blogged this year, and did not write as much creatively as I usually have in the past, because I often forgot the important concept of BIC.
What is that, you ask?
Butt in chair.
In order to get anything written, I have to pull out the chair, sit down, and write. It doesn't matter if I use a spiral notebook and pen, a typewriter, or word processor on a computer. My job is to construct words into sentences and paragraphs to create scenes for a short story or novel.
I have to set time aside, or simply decide on a whim that writing is more important than anything else I might want to do at that moment. It's not difficult to set aside time after work to go into my home office, close the door, and write.
In September of this year, I went to Ireland for 14 days with my cousin, Tammy. We stayed in bed and breakfasts most of the time and used public transportation and our feet to get around. We started in Dublin and traveled the coast to Dingle, Galway, Bundoran, and Belfast. After this, she spent a week alone on the Antrim Coast, and I rode the bus back to Dublin to catch a plane home. Our trip was amazing! I spent quality time with Tammy, lived the Irish culture for two weeks, and returned to the United States with plenty of new material for writing.
This last year I also rejoined my old critique group, which has been a godsend. I have been, and still am, motivated to work on my novel. I enjoy reading my writing cohort's work, as well as sharing my perceptions of both the positive and the negatives of their work. Their feedback on my writing is invaluable, and they all have something special to offer in support of my work. Some of the writers are published, but all of them are excellent critique partners.
Thanksgiving was fun, Halloween was spooky, and Christmas was joyous. The only things missing from the holiday season were the Dicken's Fair in San Francisco and the Christmas Salon for the Redwood Writer's Club, but we could not fit either in this year due to other commitments.
Now, we are days away from 2015 and a fresh start, as it happens every year. What are my New Year's resolutions?
None. Absolutely none, because I don't believe in making resolutions because I never follow through.
Okay, there is one, but it's not a plan, but a reality: I will set aside that time to write, and I will write.
I. Will. Write.
What about you? What are your plans for 2015?
Happy New Year, all!
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Krups, who I often called K, was my best friend for twenty some-odd years. From the day we met, we were inseparable. The whir of her bladed heart made me smile as she ground aromatic java beans. Some evenings when I'd call on her for some much needed Hazelnut or caramel decaf, she would happily comply. K didn't just hand me perfect coffee, but she made sure my flax seed and almonds were finely chopped just the way I liked them.
Then, one day a few months ago, K died. No warning, no goodbye, she just didn't wake up one morning. With tears in my eyes, I broke the news to Don. In an effort to soothe me, he suggested we ask his friend Cuisinart in the fill K's now vacant spot.
"I can't," I said, wiping my eyes. "It's too soon."
The truth was, I had found K dead less than ten minutes earlier and needed time to grieve.
As I wallowed in grief, Don came up with another suggestion. "Hey, what about your grandmother's old coffee grinder?
Then, my gaze fell on the old crank coffee mill—Goodwood, or G.W. for short—that had been living on the countertop for several years. G.W. had never moved or made a sound, and he certainly never complained about all the attention K got.
That same morning after I laid K to rest in the recycling bin—I knew she wanted her parts donated—I put G.W.to the test. I loaded his portal with fresh coffee beans and cranked the handle, around and around, smiling as he revealed his deep bass voice. He worked hard to produce a good java. However, because he was older and a bit cranky, it took him awhile to get the job done.
Now, as I sip a cup of café mocha borne from G. W.'s hard work, I smile as I realize he has proven to be a wonderful friend. Over time, his joints have loosened a bit and he is a bit more spry, always eager to grind my beans to perfection. Too bad him and K never noticed each other when she was alive. They would have made perfect companions.
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