Ahh! The Life Of A Struggling Writer!


Though some may argue my right to claim that; I believe that I may say it in honesty. I can quite positively say that I am, indeed, struggling; and that, since I am even now writing, I am a writer. I chose not to use ‘author’, as that seems to imply one actually having been published-myself having had the misfortune not to be one from that privileged group.

I should have included ‘little known’ in the above statement. Being one of those who dream of becoming a day-by-day journalist, a blogger full of insights and helpful tips, a widely read-dare I say it?-author(!), I grow weary of the life that tries to come between me and my (dream’t of) fame.
I sat down at the computer multiple times today, intending to dazzle the world with some wonderful insight, tidbit, or tip-but each time, one of the members of my household would interrupt me. Of course, since my own computer is with my boss(who has kindly agreed to look at it and diagnose the problem), and my family’s computer is now the only thing available to me….well, since it is theirs, they have a right to use it when they need and want it.

I want my own computer back. Not that I cannot live without it, but I have grown attached.

And I still have no kitchen sink.

So, eventually, I grab a pad and pencil and head outside, there to write in peace whatever comes to my mind, and to drink in the beauties of nature.
I can just barely glimpse the part of the fence that was hastily reconstructed the other day by my brothers, after one of the stupidest moments of my life.

I was out with my father, driving through the pastures in the Jeep while checking the cattle. Now, I have been driving this vehicle off and on for the past six months…but only out in the pastures or quick trips on back roads. I think I may say I was getting pretty good about a month or so ago; but I hadn’t driven it since that time. Funny, but I seem to be inclined to forget how to drive a stick shift if I don’t *practice* regularly. So, I ‘practiced’ the other day. I drove safely all over the pastures, all the way back up to the house, parked it in the drive, turned the engine off, and placed it in nuetral.

Those of you who drive stick shifts regularly will already have seen my mistake.

I stood outside the Jeep a few moments, running over in my mind the correct parking of a shift, making sure I’d done everything right, and, feeling confident that, since it hadn’t moved an inch in the whole ninety seconds I’d stood there, it wasn’t likely to now. Ha.

Upon entering the house, I learn I need to return a friends call. No sooner than I am on the line with said friend, exchanging basic pleasantries, than I hear a commotion from the front half of the house; my mum pokes her head in my room to tell me to hurry out. No time for goodbyes or civilly getting off the phone-I hang up. From the sounds of it, something terrible had happened. I run out to the drive, only to find the Jeep, not where I’d left it, but gone. My mind working quickly(for once, at least!), I whisked myself about, and saw the runaway vehicle out in the pasture, a fence-that had dared stand in the Jeep’s way, trying to save my reputation-demolished.

Yes.

Fortunately for me, there was minimal damage to the Jeep. I did have to buff out some paint scratches. And my brothers’ did have to repair a fence they hadn’t planned on that evening. But they were angels the whole time, repeatedly telling me it “wasn’t so bad”, “look, missed the tree at least!”, “No big deal”, and “anybody could have done it”. While I’m not so sure about the ‘anybody’ part, I realized what treasures I have in my brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spring is a lovely time of year. My favorite. And this spring has been lovelier than most.
I sit out here, the wind blowing through my hair, the lawn freshly mowed(by my wonderful brothers!), surrounded by growing things, beauty everywhere, if only the eye can see. My mum’s gardens are gorgeous, and her many antique rose bushes are overflowing with blossoms(if it is possible for a bush to overflow). I took some pictures, but having trouble with my camera connection…maybe I’ll get them posted later.

Sitting here, looking at the roses-how delicate and beauteous, yet strong-reminds me of a sonnet:

‘Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odor which doth in it live.
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye,
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses;
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwooed and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.’
Shakespeare: Sonnet Fifty-four.

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