Life of One Writer

Keeping on, keeping on.
I just went back and read Emily's blog till I got to my first blog, and, lo and behold, I read my own blog twice thinking I needed to be reminded of that (the idea of loving me and my writer self since that part of me has never been adequately loved/parented).
For me, maybe not for all, being a writer requires a daily commitment, because for so long the writing self was pushed down. Brutally by my father. With amusement by my mother. And then most insidiously, unconsciously, by myself.
So, it's labor to keep this writer out of intensive care where she lies in a coma.
During my coaching session with Emily today, I said how much more powerful I felt when my writing was going well...or even not particularily well, but going.
I've been without computer for almost a month and I am terribly rusty,irritable, and insecure about jumping back in. I need the regularity of frequent writing.
The result of our coaching session was my decision to devote my coming weeks to writing about rage. I thought I was but Emily was hearing something much "nicer." I think I have to work hard on not being so damn nice.
I'm working on a piece about experiencing physical pain and there is nothing nice about that unless you're trying to be (as sometimes I still do) a Southern Lady. Ugh. How really repulsive an idea. I want to be wild, free, furious and able to write about it.
This one writer needs to write a bit, then get a big bowl of cherry jello waiting for her, and delve into a book I'm immensely enjoying.
Thank you for letting me blog. Claire