internal alarm clock

I don't need an alarm clock.

I wake up at 5:30 a.m. even though all the Health articles I read say, "Get plenty of rest."

A minimum of 6 hours is required to allow the body to heal and prevent weight gain.  

However 8 hours is ideal.  

Yeah, right.

I'm sure it is.

However, how can I afford 8 hours when I have:

3 kids

1 husband

a hamster wheel of artistic ambition

an endless stream of story to be written

a body which throbs for activity

2 cats....

and of course....the laundry.  (there is always, the laundry)

I don't want to sleep.

Even as a teenager, I would burst open at 7 a.m. and annoy my more "mature" friend, Monica.

It got so bad that she sat me down one day and said basically,

"Look Sarah, I like you.  But if we are going to have sleepovers, you've gotta promise not to wake me up before 9 a.m."

So I'd spend 2 hours staring at her Patrick Swayze poster on the ceiling and picking the nail polish off my toes.

Now I am a grown-up and I can do whatever I want.

This is still a novelty to me.  I dream up more projects than I can execute.

Sometimes this defeats me and I spin in too many directions.  

For example when I try to outwit traffic and wind up driving in circles.

Today I am painting a giant mirror flat black with an FTR logo taped off.

When the paint dries, which will be agonizing to wait for, and I peel back the tape, I will see the letters reflecting back in the clear mirror space leftover.

It will be glorious!  I want to do it right now!

In fact I didn't want to go to bed.  I wanted to paint it last night at 11 pm

But my eyes were aching cuz I'd been up since 5 a.m. and I was forced to be responsible for this body and let it rest.

My stomach is growling.  It is annoying.

Beckam is lying on the floor in his ninja turtle jammies.  He is going to need breakfast.

I should probably put on a bra and change out of my swishy pants.

And now I hear Pepper in the other room cooing to the cats.

I wish I could just zip from writing to art to exercise...but there are other facets of my life.

Without these dimensions, I would not be human and my art would have nothing to say.

I would be like Data from Star Trek trying to record human behavior without any connection to it.

So I take a deep breath, publish my writing for the day, and scoop up my fuzzy children for breakfast.

BOLD FONT

I FAILED TODAY.

TYPED A RESUME INSTEAD.

THERE ARE TOO MANY #!*$ING FONTS ON THE PLANET.

WILL TRY AGAIN TOMORROW

AHHH!

The BOOK

I sit down at the computer and remember that Pepper has colored all the keys lime green with a Sharpie.
It actually looks good. Andrew finished off the job for her, adding color to the tiny spots she missed.
He wasn't the least bit angry.
This is progress.

Now I'm looking around the room trying to notice the next delightful detail to illustrate for you.
This must be the block...the writer's block they talk about in my book.
I've been reading the War of Art.  It is telling me a bunch of stuff I already know, cuz I've lived it.
I suppose it is validating in some way, but I have yet to read the part where he tells me the secret code.
You know like in Contra?
Up...Up..Down...Down...Left...Right...Left....Right...B...A...Select...Start.
Bam!  30 guys.
Anyone can beat the game with 30 guys.

What is the secret code for a writer?
I believe it has something to do with fear.......
.........bathroom break...........I drink a lot of coffee............................*
Okay.
So you're not going to believe this.
I took my War of Art book into the bathroom and the next page says:

Resistance and Fear
"Are you paralyzed with fear?
That a good sign.
Fear is good.
Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator.
Fear tells us what we have to do.
The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it."

The universe is tickling me, and it's a little bit uncomfortable.

So now the question.....What is the question?

What am I afraid to do as a writer?
I know this answer.
I am afraid to write a book.  I am afraid to try for publication.
I am afraid to hope for a wider audience...but I want one so bad I could cry right now.
Literally I feel tears hot in the corners of my vision.
I feel overwhelmed by this thought.  I don't know where to start.
I don't know what my focus will be.  I don't know what the book would be about.
Why would anyone read my story?
Perhaps because people read it already...?

What story am I afraid to tell?
I am afraid to tell my story because I'm afraid it doesn't matter.
But it's the only one I know.  It's the only one I can tell honestly.
I'm afraid that if I tell it honestly I will offend the other characters.
Because my own story is so wrapped up with the people I am close to.
I am afraid that I won't be able to say the whole truth cuz someone else will be embarrassed.

I'm afraid I'll get obsessive and mean.  I'm afraid I'll go crazy.
I am afraid of the creative mania.  It is easier to fold the laundry and read children's books.
I am afraid of a new definition of myself.
I'm afraid I won't be good to my kids.  I'm afraid I won't be delighted by the lime green keys.
I'm afraid it isn't time.

Mostly I am afraid to say this matters.  This is a book.  This is serious.
But how many "books" have I written?  A book is just a whole bunch of writings smooshed into one place and read by lots of people.  Usually it is about one thing.  I'm afraid mine wouldn't make sense.  I'm afraid it would never get published at all.
How can I think about it differently?
Maybe the War of Art will tell me......