I bounce between two schools of thought about the entries I make in my blogs. On the one hand I am a long winded writer. It’s just a more natural flow for me to examine the minutia and find it absolutely fascinating. The tiniest little detail is worthy of being brought into the light to be examined. In really getting into whatever it is I happen to be writing about it is not uncommon that I lose track of how long the piece is getting.
On the other hand people tend to get bored. My husband’s eyes will glaze over and he develops a noticeable twitch when whatever story I am telling him grows too long. He says to me, “The Short Version!” I counter with, “This is the short version!”
Is this what is called being caught between a rock and a hard place? I think not. I believe I can take awhile to tell a story and to that story come the folk who don’t mind spending a bit of time. It is difficult for me to manage the short version. It’s like sweeping the icing off of the cake and presenting somebody with a bald and rather forlorn looking cupcake. Something is missing.
But, people like the short version. My boss is like that too. I wrote up the story of a disgruntled customer the other day. It caught everything the person had to tell me of their complaint. Finished, I was pleased to see I’d kept it all to one page. And, that was when I said, “It’s too long.” So, I erased the bottom 8 inches of the story and rewrote it. Now, interestingly enough, deleting all that large amount of story did not in any way cause one moment of consternation for me. Rather, it was like I got to write some more.
It’s not like vomiting on the page like was the case once upon a time. I’m taking the time now to spit judiciously. Oh, this is sick.
Dear, you are having a ball this morning.
Well, yes, you’re right. I don’t know where I’m going with it though. I’m just writing.
Yes, we can see that. Is there a story you’d like to tell?
I’d like to talk about what it’s like for me to read. How the letters move to sounds. How the letters on the page are like paint and are like music to my ears. Am I going bi-polar?
I think not. Continue.
I worry about that, you know.
Yes, we know you are worried about it. You will know if and when it happens. Your husband will be sure to say something to you.
Okay, in the quiet of this lovely Sunday morning maybe I ought to address whatever psychological shitty things need to be aired.
What a way with words you have.
Right. Well, it was fun a moment ago. Now, it isn’t fun anymore.
We realize that examining psychological issues is not your favorite thing to do. Why did you make the shift from writing about nothing to having a purpose?
Well, you were sort of standing there and I figured I ought to do something useful.
Your father would not consider this useful at all.
No, not much of what I do is.
So, there you have something to center in upon if you are so inclined.
You know, I was thinking about doing Byron Katie’s, “Loving What Is” work earlier today for somebody else. Maybe I should do it for my father too. I know when I did it with the kid downstairs everything between us altered. That was 2 years ago and it has never gone back to when I was so angry with him.
That is a good thing to do, however, your first inclination to move to the standard stand up on the table and beat the crap out of it with a baseball bat would also do more toward moving you into a rather productive time for the remainder of the weekend.
Like that, huh?
Like that, Dear.