As a Writer, What Drives You?: Breakthrough (courtesy Amada and Theresa) for the week of 3/4/2019

Amada Willingham, a gifted writer and friend, created this divination card. An ice-coated typewriter crushes a woman – we see only her legs. I drew the card when I had reached a dead-end trying to collaborate on a novel. I’d known that the other writer was unlikely to deliver on his glorious fantasies of a best-seller, but a longing I’d held since I was a young girl – a longing for partnership – drove me.
I paid attention to the card. I thanked Amada and freed myself from a crippling longing. Then, Theresa Souers responded with a poem/meditation to our February 11 Breakthrough  Her words touched me – I know too well about short days and long lists – and inspired this week’s Breakthrough. Thank you, Theresa.

If only I had what I profess I don’t
I pledge I will . .  but know I won’t.
Day’s too short, the list too long
Phone demands attention. . . same old song.
Some day I’ll wake with the sun mid sky
Slowly sip coffee like a rare fine wine.
Metaphors I’ll toy with, tempos and rhymes.
Words painting images in three quarter time.
I’ll venture outdoors to my favorite chair
I’ll soak in the view, taste sage in the air.
Hawks will soar over head while quail hide below.
There will be no one to see, nowhere to go.
If only I had what I profess I don’t
I pledge I will . .  but know I won’t.
Day’s too short, the list too long
Keyboard demands attention. . . same old song.
I’ll pick up my guitar, strum soft and light.
Fiddle with the strings til tuned just right.
I’ll dabble with a chorus, a verse or two.
Perhaps a song will emerge, sweet and true.
When hunger calls i’ll rise from my chair
An apple perhaps or a sweet juicy pear
I’ll open my novel to the last page read
And hope that the lovers will make it to bed.
If only I had what I profess I don’t
I pledge I will . .  but know I won’t.
Day’s too short, the list too long
Emails demand attention. . . same old song.
When surrounding hills shimmer pink and gold
I’ll stand and stretch, a little neck and shoulder roll.
I’ll lace up my sneakers, trust where they lead
I’ll taste, sniff, feel the dirt, clouds, breeze.
A lazy hot bath, lavender shampoo
I’ll sing along with Linda, Blue Bayou.
I’ll wrap myself in flannel and with pinot in hand
Toast the day’s glory and all my favorite bands.
If only I had what I profess I don’t
I pledge I will . .  but know I won’t.
Day’s too short, the list too long
Guilt demands attention. . . same old song.

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