This thing growing inside me wants out...today! I've felt the Braxton-Hicks for quite some time. A line here, a line there. Moments of morning sickness from thoughts inadequately expressed. A growing belly of ideas waiting to be written.
For the past few weeks the urge and presence of this thing has been growing stronger. "Writing Down the Bones" and "The Artist's Way" have been my "What to Expect When You are Expecting" and birth manuals. I've been reading them and noting my symptoms. I am indeed pregnant with words.
Parts of the delivery scare the fool out of me. Can I do this? Do I have a choice? Is there a way to medicate so I don't feel the pain? Will I remember the pain once it's over or will I be so enthralled with the new life that pain becomes a distant memory?
Last week I was into heavy nesting mode. I made a mental note of where all my blank notebooks were, set up a nursery of time for this new creature. I even bought new pens for its coming home outfit!
For the past few weeks the urge and presence of this thing has been growing stronger. "Writing Down the Bones" and "The Artist's Way" have been my "What to Expect When You are Expecting" and birth manuals. I've been reading them and noting my symptoms. I am indeed pregnant with words.
Parts of the delivery scare the fool out of me. Can I do this? Do I have a choice? Is there a way to medicate so I don't feel the pain? Will I remember the pain once it's over or will I be so enthralled with the new life that pain becomes a distant memory?
Last week I was into heavy nesting mode. I made a mental note of where all my blank notebooks were, set up a nursery of time for this new creature. I even bought new pens for its coming home outfit!
I've paced, walked the halls, jotted down the mental contractions as they come closer together. Many hours have been spent imagining what it will be like, dreaming about the relationship we will have, this thing and I.
Then...this morning in the wee hours. My water broke. I was dreaming about writing. I woke up with writing so firmly in my mind that I could hardly think about anything else. I set about the morning routine with intense effort to get these chores done and out of the way so I could be focused on only allowing the writing to finally come forward.
I had to stop several times to breathe and write my way through the contractions. With each line they grew stronger and more forceful. Birth is imminent. I've had false contractions for years, but this morning nothing matters but the writing. Today is the birth-day of the writer within.
I'm excited and nervous! What will it look like? What will personality and voice will it have? Once it's here, I'm tied to it forever. Am I ready for this? Does it even matter now?
I think it's too late to turn back.
No comments:
Post a Comment