Frustrated.  I guess this is why writers get publishers.  They don’t know how to typeset and bind and publish and publicize and distribute a book– they know how to write it– and that’s it.  So here I am, not writing these last many days.  Admittedly it has been a busy time, too busy it seems to sit at the keyboard and work on this.  I want to write more about Split this Rock; I want to publish a list of principles that I wrote yesterday in response to something more at my daughter’s school about Student Council.  I want to write about a meeting that I was privileged to be invited to by a group of mostly black women at school, to talk about racism and classism and homophobia among other things.  A meeting that happened months ago and changed me in some way– made me more hopeful, and less lonely.

But instead I am clumsily working with what little time I have, on the technology– I figured out (thanks to both of you who took the time to email me instructions, you know who you are) how to insert a link into the blog.  I took pictures on this first really warm sunny day in my neighborhood yesterday and tried to upload one to replace the photo across the top of this blog, which for those of you who don’t know, is a photo that came with the format I chose and is a photo of Little Italy in New York City.  But I haven’t yet figured out how to put my photo, of another street corner in my own neighborhood– in it’s place.  And my time for writing today has just passed– 10 minutes ago, in fact.

So it’s like that.  Sometimes you want to write something deep and you change a lightbulb instead.  Sometimes you want to write something at all, and you fumble around with your less than fluent knowledge of how to use the tools to do all that you want to do.  So instead of putting up the picture that I am thinking of using across the top of this blog– I’ll post another picture instead.  One that reminds me that my daughter, tall, strong and knowledgeable as she is, is still my young girl–with a great sense of humor.  At least a little longer. (The young part, I mean– her humor will last last a lifetime.)

my girl...


One response to “Foiled

  1. Oh Laura! How beautiful she is. Her eyes, her caramel color skin. Thank you.
    You describe me. You are determined to do something but instead do something else (that needed doing no question, but still). I get it.
    Thank you.

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