Middle of the Night

I've often gotten up and sleep written or sleep typed. I know weird. But, if you think about it, I'm sure there are things that you do or can do in your sleep. The below passage is before editing and again in the middle of the night. I just thought you'd be curious. There is just one long passage, so bear through to the end. It may have one or two redeeming lines. :)


There are times when I have read great pieces of writing and I wonder if I too will ever realy write again. Will I ever again be so totally immersed in my writing and my “style” that it will just flow when I sit down...the gift. I remember the first time that I actually considered myself a writer...the first time I almost did something insanely stupid like calling myself a writer in front of a great writer who had actually published several books...Salman Rushdie. Argh...i could still die just thinking about it. I remember the first time I saw one of my poems in print in a small magazine with an even smaller readership. But, it was my poem. One that had fflowed from my pencil and worked its way into my notebook. Not too often now do I even write in my notebook. The feeling hits me and I think I should write this down...this snippet of a thought that I just had before it floats away and it is no more. Its it vanity that I want to publish a book...is it selfish that I want to spend time writing..that someday I want to have an awesome office filled floor to scealing with lovely smelly books...ancient books at times that are sprawled open across my desk with great gouging underlining thorughout the whole of them. I want to be immersed in that lifesctyle, because I really do feel that is a callnng of mine. Really. A god given calling/gift. I do believe that this ifs of God. Someday. I know that now I have answered another calling in being a motherhood and truly for me even with the writing, there is no greater alling that I can receive. Truly. I love the sound of the keyoboard and the sound of the pencil cscritching away at the paper. I love the sound of ripping notebook paper and crossing out of great passages that perhaps could be reworked or shifted or should just be tossed away into the sea of all those other bad ideas. Sometimes I like to think that my bad ideas rub up against the toerh bad idea of some great writers and occasionally those really sucky ideas get transformed into not so sucky and drift back up on the beach where i'm sitting and wash back across my toes and land in my lap. A true argument for the importance of reading in life. Writing is truly what I have always wanted to do...that and read. If I could have found a job in which all I had to do was write and read I would have been extremely happy and well-preserved....some of my greatest memories of that time in my life are of working with the froshies and exing out things and shuffling sentences, drawingn arrosws and smiley faces. I always used colored pens....my favorite was this great fine point green ink pen I wish I still had several of those. I remember making notes with it in my coppy of Mrs. Dalloway. I would buy new pens every year at the beginning of a new term. That would be my school pen. I wonder if I was just trying out new pens until I got the one that was the right groove for me. I think that perhaps that green pen was. I had a teacher that I absolutely loved that wrote everything in red colored pencil. All of her corrections. I suppose she thought that it was less harsh than with a red pen. I always tried to be less harsh in my critiques, perhaps with the green ink and I would always leave smiley faces and question marks becauase I never wanted to seem ast hough my tone was harsh in any way or as if I had the last word on the subject. Or even that I had a certain infalibility about me. Heaven knows that I don't. I've been making an effort to read more consistently and one thating that reading consistently does for me is hand in hand it also forces me tow rite. I always have something to say about whateer i'm reading. I scan't just pass it one and say, we'll I 've read that...that was a nice bbook. no. I want to stop and think about what I got from that book...what was the reason that I read that book that that book was placed in my lap or across my path. I certainly have written a lot of shitty stuff about what i've read, but hidden in that crap is some good lines and also some good passages that I could run with..sand perhaps someday, after I have finished or at least shifted in my “highest” calling I will gather up all of my scraps, notebooks and files and just really write again and be immersed in the gift that God has given me. I don't think it's wrong in calling it a gift either...i don't feel that I am ebing pompous in that. I call it a gift because writing is what has seaved my life over and over, it has brought me sanity and salvation, struly. It is God's gift to me and the small measure of talent that he has place d in my hands I will someday use and I hope that it brings Glory where it is due. It is that one thing that I feel I can really give from my soul, a gift that someday I will lay at His feet.