[Critique Group 1] July submission Finding the Words 661 words

[Marcia Wick]

  Finding the Words

Marcia J. Wick, The Write Sisters

Copyright July 2017

Word Count:  661

 

 

Is this writer's block? The noise of life interferes with coherency. Family
matters and global concerns corrupt my concentration.  I am mixing my
metaphors and dangling my participles.  My mind flits from one distraction
to another; like a hummingbird, sipping first one bud then another, never
lighting long enough to still the image. 

 

Urgently, I swoop in to kiss two fading blooms, savoring the sweetness of my
aging parents while there is time. Words seem inadequate, condensing and
collapsing their lives into random inkblots on paper.

 

I flutter to the side and savor two breathtaking blossoms, my beautiful
daughters in full color. Words escape me; how can a sprinkling of letters
capture the brilliance of hope, meaning, and love?

 

I fly from flower to flower, tasting the sweetness of life.  With delight, I
spy one, no two, little buds peeking out from behind one of the blooms. My
five-year-old grandson boasts that he will be a big brother in January.
Words can't express my joy as the garden grows. 

 

Contemplating, I float between the future and past. January is the month my
younger daughter was born, with a blink, 26 years ago. Come next January, I
fear my 92-year-old father may not be around for the birth of his fifth
great-grandchild. The Alzheimer's is taking its toll. 

 

There I go again, switching tenses back and forth, confusing fact with
fiction, complicating point of view. I shut my eyes, compelling myself to
hunt for the perfect adjective for that quirky character in a short story. I
grapple for a compelling theme to launch a personal essay. I long to spin
one complete sentence for my memoir, just one uninterrupted thread from its
initial cap to a period at its conclusion.

 

Like that hummingbird, I search for sweet morsels, but can't stay in one
place long enough to nourish my phrases into sentences. Composing an article
for the cycling club, I land on a link to a blog about guide dogs. Exploring
ideas for an essay on aging, I spend hours researching adult day care. While
online to register for a writing workshop, I fill my Amazon cart with gifts
for grandchildren.

 

I hover, wanting to stay in one place long enough to watch the seedlings
grow, hoping to express my love before a breeze wisps me away.

 

Before now, I never worried about running out of time for words. When I
retired two years ago, I reset my password to read "Thenext30," figuring
with my parents living into their 90s that I had at least 30 years to go.
Don't worry, I've changed the password since then, but I fear the 30 now
refers to months, not years.

 

Is it random or karma? My colon is acting out in spite of heredity, healthy
weight, regular exercise, and a decades-long vegetarian diet.   

 

"No need to be fatalistic," my husband says. "There will be no cancer in
this house," he decides. 

 

I keep my secret for now so as not to disturb the delicate flowers in my
garden. After all, there is no need for worry until the results come in. The
doctor said it's just a precaution, a second look to make sure they got it
all the first time. 

 

Making light of my impending colonoscopy, I resolve to push the procedure
out of my mind and get back to writing. I freshen my cup of coffee and
attempt to begin again. 

 

The news intrudes. Once again, reality robs me of words. Broadcasters cut in
with polished vocabulary to report chaos and confusion, asteroids and
icebergs, missiles and murder; words weighing heavy on my mind. 

 

Stirred up by the news, my own words won't stick to the computer screen. I
give up and decide to turn to a good book, relying on the writing of others
as a distraction for now. Perhaps tomorrow I will find the prose to write a
fanciful tale about a family of flowers kissed by a hummingbird's song.

 

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