Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Writing is not the path of least distance

Pierre Fermat wrote his theorem in the margin of a mathematics book, he could show it to be true if only he had more room.

I went to Atlanta for Christmas filled with hope. I got those acrylic nails put on to look beautiful for Tony, and no one noticed that I haven’t worn them in three years. The nails are half way grown out so now they ache when I bump them. On Sunday I cut them down to the ends of my fingers and tried to sand them with a nail file, but mostly picked them off. They hurt and look like shredded plastic bags.

A month has passed since that trip. My heart aches with my fingers. I have worked harder than ever- getting up at five and writing for two hours, then a run then an hour more, next bath go to work- the money making one. A long day at the bank.

Went to the farmers market for all organic vegetables on Sunday. Make delicious dinner each night for the children then four more hours writing. Disciplined to get my 4000 words a day or more on the novel has paid off. First draft is nearly complete. But still, my fingers hurt and my heart wakes me up at night when I have dreams missing him.

If only I had more time, I could prove it all to be true. Back to my list. Keep marching. No time no room in the margins for being blue.
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