Monday, February 14, 2011

at my desk

After great pain a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;

Emily Dickinson


shot from the train crossing Ontario...


These two first lines have it exactly. Emily knows the heart. I have this rather bizarre formal feeling as I re-enter my life. I came back home late last night. I have an empty day - only one client and they decided without knowing what I was up to, to cancel so they could spend valentine's day with their sweetheart. All good. I'm puttering, being a humble householder, and that is good. Earth is good. Things to do are good.

But I drift and wonder and feel disconnected to the work I wish to enter again. I have lots of folks that inspire my writing - from a friend and family point of view I mean - but my Dad was the one I really wanted to write for. I just have to figure out how that works now that he is gone. I know he'd say the same things to me from wherever he might have gotten to - get your bum in the seat and get going!

Tomorrow Gwen is coming for our usual writing day. I will figure out what to do then. Today I will continue to putter and put my desk in some order. Thanks to everyone who left me messages. Your kindness is appreciated.

10 comments:

Niamh said...

Jan I'm sorry for your loss. Your previous post was a wonderful tribute to your father. Take care of yourself, be thinking of you.

Jane Kennedy Sutton said...

I’m so sorry about your father. Mine died a couple of years ago – exactly two weeks after my mother. They were my biggest fans and I still feel like I write for them.

Elizabeth Spann Craig/Riley Adams said...

Jan, I'm so sorry to hear about your dad. I know how close you were. I felt the same way when my grandmother died a few years ago--she was actually the inspiration for one of my protagonists and I felt like she was my audience, too. She'd have wanted me to keep writing...and I did. But it wasn't quite the same. Hugs!

Mary Vaughn said...

So sorry about you loss.

I find it easier to write to my dad now. And, I listen better.

Liza said...

Oh Jan, we write for our Dads. We do. And then they are gone, and who do we write for then? I so understand what you are going through. Though now I know I also to write for myself, I'll never stop wishing he was here to read. All I can say is that I'm eight years beyond you in this. Somehow we muddle through. Somehow we find our way.

Faith Pray said...
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Faith Pray said...
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Faith Pray said...
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Faith Pray said...

As you process, and heal, may the writing journey process and heal, too. I'm so sorry. Peace.

Jen Chandler said...

My heart is with you, Jan. Keep writing for your Dad. My Dad was who I sang for...and I still sing for him.

Hugs,
Jen