I’ve sat here for half an hour. I’ve let my kids play on a screen for half an hour of quiet so I could write a slice.
Get back to slicing, Ona. Get back to slicing.
You might know the drill — Write, delete, write, tap your fingers on the desk, delete, stare into space. . . repeat.
You like writing, Ona. Practice, Ona. Bad writing is still writing, Ona. . .
On the way to school today, my 9 year old reminded me that he doesn’t like writing.
I reminded him that he is so creative, and he loves drawing and writing stories!
He gave me a look. “If we were like everyone else and went on a lot of great vacations every spring break and summer and winter break, then I’d have a lot to write about! I don’t have any topics!”
So I told him that really those stories all about someone’s whole vacation to Disney aren’t the most exciting ones to read… “You have small moments happen to you all the time! Those are the things to write about.”
And now I’m writing about that small moment. How meta of me.
And now I have no topic. How hypocritical of me.