In my last post I wrote about The Artist’s Way and doing Morning Pages.  Morning Pages are meant to be private. They are nothing you want to show as examples of your art. And yet – I keep preaching (I really try not to preach, but sometimes it just slips out) that we writers should be bold, tell the truth, show ourselves warts and all. So on this premise, I am going to show one page of Morning Pages here in this entry. Remember, I tell myself, writing garbage is still writing because garbage turns into compost which in turn nourishes your soil, and your soul. So here’s a page of my garbage:

“Goody has found something exciting outside. There are so many overgrown weeds in the back yard that all I see of her is the little white tip of her tail. I love her way more than is sensible to love a dog. I like the sound of her claws clicking on the floor of the hallway when she comes to bed at night. I wish dogs lived as long as humans, I hate the thought of her not being here. I don’t feel like writing in here today, but then this is almost always true. It’s weird to have grandchildren. How the hell did I get old enough to have grandchildren? There I go again on the passage of time, this subject has been done to death. The weekend is almost up but weekends mean nothing to me any more, ever since I gave up my corporate job in the “real” world. I need to buy a backup hard disk for my laptop, I get cold chills down my spine when I worry about computer crashes. Why do I always have to go to the bathroom in the middle of Morning Pages? I think it’s another resistance tactic. I’m not even done with one page yet. Maybe I’ll stop at one. No one can make me write more. Humpf. So there. Who am I talking to? No one has ever defined the word love, not really. I read somewhere that there is no Chinese character for the word love. Respect, kindness, admiration, but not love. How can that be true? Maybe I am making it up, or just mis-remembering. That happens more often nowdays. I hate that term, ‘senior moment’. So patronizing and condescending. But I have to admit, rather accurate. Oh Thank God, I’m done with one page at last. “

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