The Art of the Pivot
Ok y'all it's another day. Day 2 of my writing consistently to my deadline. I'm feeling sad-frustrated. I'm ok, just annoyed (but in the greatest of ways too lol - mom life). And what I'm learning from this is, I'm going to have to have a quick pivot muscle. Today what that looks like is that I sat down at the desk in a moment of great inspiration. If nothing were going on around me I'm sure I would have cranked out at least 500 words and likely more. I know when I get that feeling inside. You know when it wants to come out. My husband understands my process(most times lol) so when I told him about the urge to write he said “go for it.” But surrounding that “go for it,” was him coming into our room (where I’m writing) to bathe the baby, baby crying for her mama, 5-year old knocking on our door....all while in the middle of me writing. So he understood the assignment but he doesn't always translate it to the way I need it lol. I know he actually thought it was supportive. I had to drop my pen even after having armed myself with noise cancelling headphones in an effort to be unstoppable.
The house is now quiet. It's baby's nap time, 5 yo is at school. I'm sitting at the desk with a lukewarm cup of tea that was brewed for the initial moment of inspiration. Here is where I make a choice. Sit in frustration or turn the fire back up. I may not feel the fire, but I can stir the fire - I choose to put this tea in the microwave, receive my husbands gracious gift of going to buy me some small pastries/donuts called "bofrot" to enjoy with my tea, schedule a focusmate, put my headphones back on, and pick up the pen. Somehow I managed to get 250 words on paper in the midst of the earlier described chaos. Somehow my heart has slowed and the words and inspiration have seemed to slow as well. But in the choice to pivot I am stirred as well.
My family is not a distraction. It definitely feels distracting, but they are not a distraction. They are a gift, and they are the reason I will write this story and many, many others. My son is quite fascinated at current with a children's book by a good writing friend of mine, Patrice Gopo. Today he asked me to call her. My son has never met Patrice. He read the book for the first time yesterday and is completely in love with it. Shortly after asking me where did I put his book "All the Places We Call Home," he nudged “Mommy, can we call Patrice?” A bit surprised I asked him why he wants to call her and he said “I miss her.” I noted, but you don’t know her. He said confidently, “Yes I do…she is a daughter of Jamaica.” My brilliant boy who paid attention to the story. He ran and grabbed the book, and showed me her picture at the back of the book jacket. See, Patrice! Can we call her?(first of all, can we talk about the fact that my child thinks it’s normal to be able to pick up a book of an award-winning author and ask to call them? Like, that part!) I said ok, mommy will ask her if she can talk to you sometime soon (who’s gone tell him he can’t just pick up random books and call the author! Or maybe, he just inspired his mama with a witty idea for a children’s literacy event… Call the Author: For the Love of Reading) He was satisfied only with this answer, not the “You don’t know her” Because he read the story and he felt the heart of the author. His lived experience even at 5 years of age, connected with the experience of the characters in the book. This is why representation matters. This is why our stories matter. Someone is waiting to know you. Someone is waiting to connect to your heart. My sweet boy that banged on the door ever so loudly that the noise canceling headphones muffled it but the knocks vibrated through my body, was not a distraction, he was just inviting me to another revelation, another story to tell this morning.
My husband was not attempting to distract me. After I told him I was dreaming of having a quiet morning, to worship, rest, and write… he said “and there’s nothing stopping you.” It felt like his alternative plans in the midst of my writing setting/our bedroom in our small abode where our love is bound to collide and children can’t be siloed away to their own wing while I foster an altar to write on in my private office, were stopping me. But again as I release the frustration I am able to receive the fullness of his words and heart “There’s nothing stopping you. I bless you to do that.” The altar where I write is not fostered in the silence, it’s fostered in my heart. It’s fostered in my surrender to the Holy Spirit who has breathed a fresh wind on my life and birthed a new thing in my soul through this life of writing.
Thank you, Lord, for my beautiful family. I will write anyhow. I will pick up the pen again. The words will find me, and I will surrender to the page again. Here on day 2. Completed Book Manuscript, here I come.
