Convincing Max that Turning on the Computer Counts as Writing

Max and I write together a lot. Sometimes I'll type on the typewriter and sometimes I'll write in a notebook or update my reading journal. He'll sit at the table with me and draw and he's practicing writing his own name.

To Max, turning on the computer is NOT an act of writing. He's right now whining at me and complaining why dinner is not THIS INSTANT and various other things.

I don't miss the early days of the pandemic. Like at all. But I do miss blogging every day. I don't entirely remember how I did that. I know I'll probably not get back to it. I never do. But I am going to try and see how many days I can update the blog in a row. Today is Day 2.

Today was, as predicted, rainy and stormy. I made spaghetti bolognese, which doesn't actually take that much work but it does require being simmered all day so it not only makes me feel like an amazing cook but also makes me feel warm. And I did some writing.

Back in...I wanna say March, but months blend together, I took on the job of volunteering as a writer to write the life story of a dementia patient at a care facility. Volunteer writers meet once a week with a resident (I did mine via Zoom) to collect their memories and document their life story as a biography. 

It...well, I'm limited by what I can say because while this resident did sign a HIPPA waiver, I am not permitted to use his life story for my own writing in any way except to write his life story as proscribed. But I think I'm safe in saying it has not gone according to plan. The chaplain who is overseeing the project has said I no doubt have the most challenging assignment of any of the forty or so writers she has assembled.

For reasons I can't really go into here, I was only able to meet with my resident about five times. He has...certain prejudices that make the things he says harder to navigate. So I'm short on information and a lot of what I do have is...less than fun. It's been an adventure. It's probably good for me to stretch these writing muscles but it isn't exactly the fun I dreamt of when I started the project. I'm 1.5 pages into a rough draft. I need to have 18. It's a challenge.

So I did that today, in and amongst cooking and writing Goodreads reviews. It's difficult but one thing it has done is made me want to take up my own writing more. I think I've been feeling a lot lately that at 43 it's too late for me to have the writing career and life I used to dream of. But it really isn't. I'm not sure which direction it goes from here, but I'm going to start here. With this blog. And with doing the best I can to write the life story of...a very interesting human.

Media consumption: I've been trying to read The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi as a followup to The Last Mapmaker but I think I'm about to quit. I've been poking away at Disability Visibility which as with all anthologies is better in some places than others. I spent most of today listening to The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise. I think I might pick up What Color is Your Parachute, which I was working my way through on the recommendation of a friend but quit when I got Covid. And as I've now hit the point where Lucy goes to Hollywood, I think I'll keep watching I Love Lucy as I fold laundry tonight.

Today I'm grateful for writing, Italian food, Max hugs, picture books, volunteering in James's classroom, books, sunshine, and spring.