The Typist’s Lament

I wish to be a writer.

I’m more of a typist.

A typist that can often keep up, to some degree, with taking dictation from her own mind.

A mind that yearns to hear and tell stories.

To write stories she wants to tell.

To be a writer.

Each pass through a typed story – it grows longer in word count.

More editing needed to make the transitions smooth from original thought, and two hours later?

I need to split this out into a different story/a different chapter.

I’m tired now.

I’ll write something for my blog tomorrow.

I need to post something! Easter is long over.

Note to self.

Don’t re-blog a post tied to holiday on the calendar posts, UNLESS you already have a more current one written and ready to auto-publish.

I’m deep in typing the dictation of my mind.

I’m deep in the writer’s lament – the typist’s lament.

“Okay – so what was first sentence, grew into 2 – grew into current story, back story, fleshed out. Now? You’ve added, rewritten various lines so damn much? You have successfully churned out 5, 527 words most of which tell a story – but now? You have to edit it – let it sit. Maybe get back to it in a day or two – “

But I won’t.

History has proven to me I’ll let it sit.

Perhaps for 10 years.

Never go back and edit/break it out into a more beautiful dance.

Maybe to delete forever in a fit of pure frustration.

Oh so many words thought, dictated, typed, over the years, have been deleted.

Over and over and over – though the theme of them – their dance – the memories within them return to pay a visit every so often.

One that is from start to finish, compiled of one right word, phrase, sentence –

That all flows into the next one.

I should have stopped for the day around the first, furiously pounded out draft.

I should have stopped and been done for day.

But I couldn’t bear not to re-read – remind myself of another point, start fiddling with things and hours later?

A tome that will probably never see the light of day –

At least, not in this format.

Easier to just re-write it.

Easier to hear back the words and lines I loved.

Easier to write brand new than to go back and try to make sense out of that non-edited, added too many words to, stream of being a typists.

I don’t know if I’ll ever learn how to do that.

I start to despair if I ever will learn how to stop soon enough….

Or if I shall ever learn to revisit often enough.

7 thoughts on “The Typist’s Lament”

  1. I love your inner chatter, the way you talk yourself out of things .. Then talk yourself back in again.
    You know you are a writer, and there is probably several good books yet to be birthed from that inner creative genius that is longing for those stories to be heard. That leap from the blur of your fingers… πŸ™‚
    Yet you squash them,in convincing yourself you write too many words and would self edit.
    You’ve written short stories before I know you have,
    So give your writing heart a chance and don’t be too harsh on her..

    Love you my friend. Keep the words flowing. πŸ’›πŸ™πŸ’›

    Liked by 1 person

    1. LOL – Eggsactly!!! It’s SIMPLE! When that one ‘exactly right blend of paint, that one brush stroke, makes the river tumbling down the mountain, look right (me, non-artist, high school art class, week 8 of semester on oil painting that I had been fiddling with, try OH-SO-HARD – and my beloved Art teacher, said, “It’s due today – how much longer you going to mess with it? And I all but burst into tears with frustration. She took my board (pallete?) a brush, dipped it in pure white, and seriously, SHE dabbed the brush, on one spot, and magically, the river flowed right over that meandering section! And while I just sat there, trying to stammer out my joy at her skill and thanks, and frustration over it all, and how simple that was, she said to me, “Yes, I’ve done this for a long time. You do beautiful calligraphy and you make the words you draw not only dance in their lines, but dance in the heart. We each have our gifts, now? turn in the painting and quit trying to be an artist in a medium that isn’t yours. Words? That’s your medium – and you are the best calliagrapher I’ve ever had in my class’ – – My heart was so humbled and joyful over her praise, her kindness, her reminder to me, and I have thought of her so often the past 10 years after my stroke robbed my typing abilities for awhile, my penmanship, my calliagrphy skills – but most of all? I KNOW when I change one word, or switch out words, punctuation for one sentence. All the sudden? The river of words flows right – and until then? I keep messing with it – – LOL

      Liked by 1 person

    1. As Mark Twain quote says, “β€œThe difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter. ’tis the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.” I heal the past while I write it out, and yet, the composition of the words, the deletion of the ‘almost right’ words, continues to overtax me ad naseaum – LOL. I watched the PBS documentary by Ken Burns on Hemingway a week or so ago – where there were included pages shown of him editing his own work. thus, I need to just type out, sit in the garden with a big glass of watered down wine, make my notes, move this, scratch that, make the changes, shred the paper to be used as mulch in the garden or fluff for worm farm and be over my ‘lament’ – LOL. Ah – but words, done right – build from a drip of melt from the top of the mountain, and move, first in a trickle, then a brook, then a building stream that becomes a torrent of rapids crashing over the rocks until it wears itself out and leaves the delta flooded to join the ocean – evaporate, into clouds which deliver snow to the moutain top, once more…..LOL. Words – My entire brain and world are full of them – until everything shuts down and words, in reality, no matter how hard I work on them, defy explaining the wonder or the sorrow of what I’m trying to convey.

      Liked by 1 person

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