by Collin Reed

Created on: October 24, 2008

Writing on Writing

A blank page, not unlike a blank canvas, is perfect. The pressure to create something worthy of being on such perfection is daunting to say the least. I avoid writing yet it is all I want to do. I wile the days away fantasizing about an airy, open home on the cliffs off the northern Californian coast. A wide, wrap-around porch lined with fat, white pillars (who've seen better days), a comfortable chair and desk and a blanket to bury myself in as the frigid breeze thrusts upward from the vast Pacific. I see myself, there, peaceful and content happy to write and writing wildly about whatever it is I finally figure out what it is I'm supposed to write. Sadly, the fantasy is so much better than the reality because I do not know what to write.

All "real" writers tell curious and angst-filled "wannabe" writers that it doesn't matter what you write but that you write at all. Every single day. Commitment and dedication to the craft is the only way and, of course, that makes perfect sense. But it's the lack of a topic that throws me every time. What do I write about? I hear the voices of those same writers respond, "Write about what you know." So, what do I know? What DO I know? I don't know what I know other than I love to write. I love to create pictures with words. I love the language its nuances and inconsistencies. How anyone learns to speak English is beyond me. Love learning new words. Some words, when I hear them, seem like precious gemstones. They are rare and not often used and do I think they are better than the more pedestrian words we all use and overuse day after day. I'm only partially ashamed to admit that when I know a word that no one in my company knows or has heard before, I feel just a little bit full of myself. I look for the words like little kids in a vast field on Easter Sunday looking greedily for all the eggs they can find. The one with the most wins and gets to act smug about it. That's how I feel.

Anyway, writing about writing is tempting because it's familiar. Well, it would be familiar if I actually wrote more. But, like I said, I avoid it. I feel like nothing I have to offer is worthy of the pristine and perfect page in front of me and whatever chaos I have to impart is really just a bunch of crap. What do I know

I have two children, but motherhood has been a complicated and not always fun journey. Motherhood is painful. Watching my children evolve into people that are so very different from one another, yet so much like

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