I am a Lazy Writer. This is why I keep taking classes. I read years ago that most writers must write. Well, I mustn’t. I’m simply lazy.
Nevertheless, there’s a part of me that can’t seem to remain silent. I live a quiet life. Literally. When required to speak, I often sound hoarse because my vocal cords get so little use. My husband and I have an agreement to live separately together. This used to be called “doing your own thing,” but in my opinion, it is seldom really practiced by couples. Most couples remain intent upon retaining a facade, pretending to be what each thinks the other wants. For us, this would be a sin, if we believed in the concept. Which neither of us does.
But I digress. I often do.
Back to the part of me that can’t remain silent. Age brings time for reflection and decades of living bring along lots of living to mull over, regret, applaud. You get my drift. When I get stuck on a memory of an event, I start writing about it in my head. This does little toward getting it on to a piece of paper or a screen, but that usually is the beginning of one of my stories. I learned that writing about what’s going on in my head isn’t really a story. There’s no story arc, just stream of consciousness rambling.
Always wanting to be a better writer, I went in search of classes to force myself to write to spec. It was quite an adjustment for me to make, but after I got the hang of it, it became fun. These pages are my writing from Spring Semester 2020, Creative Writing, College of Southern Nevada in Las Vegas.