On writing and dieting

I have come across a book. It is 'The Writing Diet, Write yourself right-size'. Fascinating concept. One other great thing about living in the Holleran household is the wealth of books. There are overflowing bookshelves in every room. This one is fairly new, in hardback still wearing its original pristine jacket.

The premise of the author is that we eat because we are blocking out thoughts that would reveal unwelcomed emotions. Because this successful author also has a career as a teacher of writing, a leader of writer's workshops, she can get such a book published. Is there any new thought, new concept in this book? Maybe not, but she has collected or created a good collection of interesting anecdotes, has arranged them well and woven them together with discipline to emphasize each point, and so it is a good read.

She begins with the suggestion that you set your alarm clock an hour earlier so that you can start the day writing three pages. Nothing artistic, just a dump of whatever is bothering you, she says.

If I could put my life on halt and spend my first hour of every day writing, I would have plenty of material to publish in no time. First of all, nothing is bothering me. Try as I may, I can't dredge up a rant, or even a pithy kvetch. So my hour would be spent painting a word portrait of The Good Life.

There are exercises I plan to do, as soon as I can wrestle a free hour each morning, to hone my skills as a writer. For example, if I began each day writing I would work on describing the characters that are in my life right now. Just a thumb sketch of, say, the overweight middle-aged woman in my office who is dripping with peevish negativity. Yes, the one who insists on not working on Sundays, such a devout Catholic who Oh! by the way never goes to Mass. Her husband is the cantor at the parish church, she knows all the gossip...but it's not for her to say...but she won't set foot in the church until [whatever] changes. She uses her diabetes as a crutch to justify her grouchy moods. Let's all feel sorry for her, ignoring the part about her weight being the cause of her self-induced condition. In between calls she plays spider solitaire on her computer, or sits with her arms folded, staring blankly at the screen attached to a computer that terrifies her. Although she has been coming back to this seasonal job for years, she doesn't lift a finger to help the new hires. She doesn't get paid enough, it's not her job, not her problem. Ask her for help and she gets flustered, sputtering fretting, once someone touched that key and the company lost millions, you'd better ask the supervisor.

In her younger, slender years she was a petite beauty, with a pretty upturned nose. She was fawned over, doors opened for her, flatterers abounded. Now she is a blubbery frumpy mess spewing nastiness, sprinkled with efforts at sweet comradrie. You've come a long way Baby!

But there is no one hour to write each morning. Another suggestion by the author is to walk for inspiration. Have we not heard this before? How I long to be able to get out each day and speed walk my way to thinness! If one has managed to earn a healthy bank account through writing, or by whatever other means, surely one can make leisure time to journal ones frustrations in the morning, and walk twenty minutes a day to receive creative inspiration, or to unblock a tangled plot. But for us grunts, us working stiffs cum slugs in a factory of one sort or another, our creativity being sapped by the very act of pretending to be a diligent slug, these cheery helpful suggestions are vinegar in the wound.

The above inkspots are oozed leakage from a thwarted pen. One thin day it will come unstuck, and will overflow with inspired creativity.

Or not.