The past weeks have been filled with family connections. My children are grown and most live far away…but we had three of them under my roof,  TOGETHER, many times this week. My emotions ran from glee to melancholy even as I was determined to be strong, light, and present in each moment. Knowing the day would advance in which I would have to say good-bye…again.

Making memories! That is life, just a memory after another…which is the brilliant fodder for writing. It is the guts, the energy, and the touchstone where we go to dig out the truth of our days.  Even if our choice of genre is not built upon personal memories, the past shades and scallops the stories we share.

I love suspense. I love the anticipation pounding through my system as I read words created by someone else. The creation of drama, hinged upon the unknown elements…

The stories I want to design! Those that are wrapped in the mystery of a puzzle. I wish to write gut-twisting, tingling, artful and smart suspense…

But I also love personal narrative. I love self-help books. I am all about creating beauty and peace in our home. There are stacks of these on my bedside table. I adore Paris, and European cooking, capsule wardrobes, archaelogy…and the joy of taking one moment at a time.

Here is my reality….My husband of forever years,and I try to live frugally. I do my own decorating, redesign and refurbish. I love the touch of old wood, the scent of herbs, candles at dusk, and making something from nothing. We have managed to get to the ocean, and are working toward living our dream. Trouble is we still have to make a living when we should be retired. This has been a struggle, to say the least, to begin new businesses in a new state. And these are the things I am living with today…the things making the new memories, the things that are shaping my thoughts, corrupting my days  and altering my plans. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I have ignored the most important part of me..the part of me that wishes to write.

That is why I have committed and recommitted to getting back to this blog and to writing.

So, today, as I wrote my 750 words..(a self-challenge), I wandered. I slid through the musings of whether to drag out my drafts, and see if any of them…if any of the 7 drafts I have stored in a wire file are worthy of a second glance. I considered a new genre…a roadmap of my own road to the coastal life that I have envisioned for 20 years. I bounced over the paranormal thriller…(another draft status).

I confess. I am envious of all those of you, who are knee-deep in your plot and escapades of your deliciously corrupt/misunderstood/sure-footed/honorable/beauty-beast hero(ine). I yearn to be there with you! If only I could find my story…if only I could decide what is worthy of the effort and what is rubbish. But there are clues…..

Memories are thickets of opportunity. The walls of my home resonated with laughter, damp swimsuits, sandy feet, football, pranks, and long evenings chatting over a glass of wine. The silence now is thick, even as I write my pages anchoring those memories in a red spiral. Those days, and these minutes are “story.”

Tell me your of your writing and the brambles you might have to battle…I am surely not alone in this…

My red typewriter awaits…

~HPen