|Two Years of Notes and Assignments from the PW Program|
A ScribeYou may have guessed that I have a weakness for writing. It doesn't yammer at me to get out, as I've heard some authors describe. Full-blown stories don't exist inside me, just waiting for the excess stone to be chipped away, revealing their legends, adventures, or allegories.
Instead, ideas take hold, and as my fingers rest on the keys, words begin to flow out -- jerkily, with many revisions and clarifications -- but I discover, just as you do, what is to be written that day.
I've only experienced writer's block once, with all of its black-holed dread. It lasted an unrelenting three weeks. Our college assignment was to create a children's story; it seemed so simple. But not being a mother, I had read a tiny handful of kids' books in the nearly fifty years prior, and it felt as though I was being asked to write a story in Swahili. "I can't" is rarely in my vocabulary, so in saying those words to my professor, I found tears in my eyes. Luckily, he has a kind and patient soul, and helped me set down my fear.
The following day a rhyming tale began, starring my dear old gold-dog, Porter, and his pug-buddy, Biggie. To my great surprise and delight, it and four others were chosen to be illustrated by the students in the graphics program. Those drawings, sadly, disappeared with the artist, but the block has not returned (touch wood), and I hope that the words continue rolling off of my fingertips, sharing my spirit with those who choose to read them.