It has been snowing and I don’t need to say that, it snows in winter. The news is full of snow news. Today’s fresh snow just buried yesterdays’ which buried Decembers’. It is mean if I say I love snow it gives me time to write. The librarian in town has recently published her book on poems, she told me one time she only writes in winter.
And because I envy her I made a pineapple upside down cake. One which I have long planned. A break from writing in this snowy weather. I pre heat the oven to 350, then read the instruction for the 10th time, conservative count. The first was when I bought the mix to make sure I have all the ingredients, that was three months ago and each succeeding times I plan on doing it. But because the partner isn’t fond of pineapple, the plan is nipped in the bud. I have since baked a couple different kinds that he wants.
To write a book is actually planning to make the upside down cake. While I like it, the opportunity isn’t there. And so I search for that opportunity, a writer should write anyway, all the way. A journal is a good exercise some say. I did write everything enthusiastically, wake up and sleep, cook and eat, clean and clutter, go out, read books, then sleep, wake up. After years of writing the same thing, it was fatiguing. I didn’t know these are the exact issues to write in a journal, that boring feeling, that tiring feel, that wanting to bake an upside down cake and not a downside down cake. To feel stupid if I begin asking myself and come up with an answer.
The oven reads 100 degree, I read the instructions from the box for the third time in thirty minutes. First when I pulled out the box from the pantry lay it on the counter, second is checking the ingredients when opening the cupboards to get the ingredients and, third is checking the exact temperature of the oven.
Journaling is getting tedious. I keep looking back and forth at the events that happened morning noon or night. It is the same, back and forth. Until the event becomes non memorable. There is nothing to write. I re read the Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (my second time), she said write at least three pages everyday. Some days I did, some days I didn’t. There is nothing to write.
As I started mixing the ingredients one by one, I keep on looking back at the instruction, one to make sure that I am not missing any and second to reassure myself that everything is there. The mixer is plugged in and I toggle the switch, putting all the ingredients together is not enough, it has to become one.
Oftentimes I feel that there are many things to write about but these ideas passes so swiftly that there is hardly time to write. So fast my fingers aren’t quick enough to catch the passing words.
Now the oven is beeping 350 degree. I put the baking pan inside the oven and grab the box checking the instruction one final time.
When writing in my journal I now make my goals easier. I am in a hurry to use my new pen and fill up the pages of this old notebook because I want to use a new, prettier and scented notebook, with fragrance surrounding me each time I flip the pages.