April 28, 2008

Literary Reflection Selected Short: April

Literary Reflections is pleased to announce April's featured writing prompt Selected Shorts. We had a record 11 prompt submissions to our April question, which was "Do you write "in your head" as you go about your daily tasks? If so, describe your thought process. If not, reflect on how you generate writing ideas and fit writing into your daily routine."

Heidi Scrimgeour wrote,

I write in the shower.

For me, writing is less a physical act with pen and paper and more about stolen moments of mental space. They're few and far between but guaranteed; as soon as I set foot in the shower the wispy ideas and snatched threads of dialogue rain down as fast and free as the water.

It replenishes me, my daily writing shower. Sometimes it happens while small fists bang devilishly on the shower door. Sometimes my wet writing reverie is brought to an all-too abrupt end by the need to issue time-out sanctions and resolve small boys' disputes.

I long for the shower space. Proverbs says that hope deferred makes the heart sick, while a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. Most of the time, I carry a kind of heart-sickness with me: a longing for a time when I can write uninterrupted, without the chaos of these ever-present tiny budding souls whose seemingly endless needs tear me from myself and from my words.

I couple that with the knowledge that one day I'll miss these small days that seem so purposeless and yet are infused with teaching them how to be -- a task as purposeful as they come. I know one day I will berate myself for all the ways I wished this time away; I'll wish to be able to repay all the times that I lingered in the shower in return for one more chance to drink in the delicious undiluted joy of mothering two small, fuzzy headed boys.

But now, juggling my need to write with the needs of my children is like constantly deferring hope. Even as I write this I know naptime must be coming to an end any minute now. I try not to resent the abrupt conclusion of this stolen moment. But even as I wrench myself from here and ascend the stairs to greet the urgent cries of Mama! I am torn in pieces.

I tempt them into silence with the TV while Mama finishes her words. They squeeze in beside me, struggling to navigate the way Mama slips from song-singing playmate to distracted scribbler on scraps of paper. I fight the urge to pull away, to clutch frenziedly at the words before they float away, consigned to a place of darkness where forgotten-ideas taunt me while I sleep.

As I move from this to Mama, dizzy at the shift in gear, I feel as guilty as an adulteress slipping back beneath the sheets. My loyalties are divided, and it feels as if I must sacrifice a part of me to let the other flourish.

But I write like this. Guiltily, desperately, with a heartsick longing. Yet when I give myself to this, to this wrangling of desires, I find that elusive fulfilment; my tree of life. And my daily shower makes that happen. It's water to my writer's soul, and when that part of me is watered, I'm a better Mama and a better me.

You can contact Heidi at heidi@giftofthegab.net and www.onefeistymama.vox.com.