A Tip

Never assume that, because the last diaper was super dirty, the next one won't be.

Things That Are Difficult To Do While Holding A Baby

1. Tying shoes
2. Folding laundry
3. Buttering bread

Letter to an Old Friend

Dear Fall,

I miss you. Would you be able to come for a visit? I’ve got the next couple months racked off just for you. I have an unwanted houseguest, Summer, who showed up several months late and is now overstaying his welcome. He makes me uncomfortable, with his hot temper that lasts long into the night. I miss our cool interactions, Fall, our colorful conversations filled with hope of good things to come. I have such happy memories of you and I, of brisk breezes and evenings spent next to a warm fireplace with books and hot chocolate and contentment. I do hope you can come to stay soon. If you’d like, you can bring Winter along as well, I don’t mind. Just, please, help me get rid of Summer.

Love,
Elle

Writing with a baby

How do people make that work?

Pondering the Importance and Innateness of Talent

Someone posed a question on LinkedIn: “What do you HATE about writing?”

One of the answers:

If one is meant to be a writer, then the answer to your question is - Nothing. I believe, that if there is even a single thing about writing that one hates, dont do it. These thoughts are best echoed in a poem by Charles Bukowsk titled - So You Want To Be A Writer:

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

I desperately disagree with this poem, or at least most parts of it. It’s terribly discouraging and elitist, and it basically claims that if you aren’t perfect at something right off the bat, there’s no point in working at it.

But it does make me think, as it challenges the encouraging declaration I’ve been fed for the past several years: if you write then you are a writer. It doesn’t mean you’re a good writer. But you’re a writer nonetheless.

Are good writers the only true writers? What is good? Is it innate or is it something that can be learned? Perhaps it can be learned but only to a certain extent? Must it build upon innate talent? Can someone who is good learn to be better? Is a person exceptional because it was destined to be, because of hard work built upon a foundation of inherent skill, or because of pure determination despite circumstances? Is it all of the above?