Lately I have felt overwhelmed by the beans in my life. – L.L. Barkat.
I KEPT A JOURNAL, seen by no one. Started in 2008, after his diagnosis. It contained the small beans of my days, my thoughts. I was embarrassed to be keeping it, as if this thing was all about me, as though something important was happening to me. I kept it tucked away, unlabeled, unidentifiable, not that there was anything in it that couldn’t be shared, but the very act of writing in it, of thinking anything happening in my head, in my life, deserved a witness, seemed wrong.
A year later, my friend says, “I hope you are keeping a journal.” It’s the first time I admit it outright. Only then, and only a single word.
I no longer write, I tell myself, confusing writing with publishing, because by then I have stopped so much of what I used to do – querying, outlining, drafting, submitting. Another six months and I begin to believe the whisper in my head. I may never write again, like a swimmer claiming he’ll never swim again, all the while maintaining a constant stroke, daily going back and forth in the deep end of the pool.
This is the secret of the prolific writer.
To agree to use small beans and the ingredients at hand. – L.L. Barkat
It’s a crazy thing about writing and writers, that we often look for the big story, shoving aside the small beans, not realizing the story may lie in the small beans. It happens.