Wall Is Me

In the last two weeks, my fifty-pound gilt mirror has fallen off the wall where my son helped me hang  it over a year ago, and a shelf that has been in my kitchen one score and seven years just came down as well.

There are probably important issues to address, such as foundation problems, the New Madrid Fault Line or the Civil War soldier said to haunt the area, but as I sweep broken china, my mind goes to complacency.

It’s funny how long one might keep something on a wall, while life goes through its changes. My tea pots shelf has been dusted, of course, and even taken down to paint the wall, then put right back up, because that was duoff the wall.gifring the “collection” phase of decorating.

As one who has begun to identify myself as a writer, I’ve collected ideas and phrases and nailed some of them in stories or manuscripts, but I can’t allow myself to be satisfied or limited, as I was with my shelf and mirror.

Complacency is one of creativity’s great foes.

Hmm, maybe that’s the reason I’ve been stuck in the opening of my current writing project, I ponder as I push the shards of dated décor into the dustpan and throw them into the trash bag.

Don’t overthink it, Vera. A change of scenery, on the wall and in my surroundings might do the trick. I grab my notepad and pen from my office bed and go out to the front porch to write until it’s too dark to see the words.

The result is this, my first blog post. Now to tackle my walls…and my WIP.

 

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