more rambles, so it seems

We had our landlord over for dinner last night for the first time since we moved in last September. I confess I had been a little bit hesitant to have him over for a meal because I know what we like and I feel comfortable enough cooking for Americans, but I get a little nervous cooking for people from other cultures. Typically, I try to keep things really simple in such cases and stick to what I do best. I wish I could say my family had gourmet tastes, but we simply don’t, which probably works out well since getting gourmet ingredients here would require a great deal more effort and money since those things tend to be imported and pricey.

It turns out he and his son seemed pleased with a simple meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade yeast rolls (they were the best) and fresh veggies. Simple, but always tasty in my opinion. I had made a chocolate pie, but he surprised us with dessert (chocolate truffle cake) which just meant more pie for us to tear into tonight!

Anyway, we were talking about writing because he himself is a writer. He writes books about economics and business and his son is also an aspiring fiction writer. I shared that lately I have been having a hard time getting back into the swing of writing after a few schedule disruptions last week and before that a week of utter fatigue. It seemed like I was gaining momentum, then wham! No more drive, just tiredness. Even writing one paragraph was monumental work. Then I freaked out thinking perhaps I just didn’t want it badly enough. Surely all writer’s worth their salt can push through the pain of fatigue and manage to get something intelligible down on the page?

Negative thinking. Ah. When will I be done with you? Will I feel more accomplished when I have something in print with my name on the cover? How about two novels? Three? Probably not. But sometimes that is the false hope I am sorry to say.

Anyway, as we talked a bit more I realized that writing, just like life, is not always the same. Some days, weeks, months are just more conducive to creativity and production than others–you just feel like writing. It flows from a place you can’t articulate. Sometimes I simply need to push myself more when the desire is just not there and I sense I’m being a bit lazy and wasteful with my time. And sometimes I think I just need to listen to my mind and let it rest. Maybe it’s working on something I can’t understand yet–like soil that is resting for something greater. However, discerning which season I’m in is a challenge. With three kids I could always say that I’m tired–just ask my husband. But  I’m a happier housewife when I write. So I’m getting back at it and hoping that the inspiration will flare up again and I can finish this rough draft next month.

So if you think of it cheer me on towards an end-of-August deadline… and as always, thanks for reading my rambles and thoughts.

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