I AM a Writer

This village of Mismaloya is so inspiring to me. As I write this, I can hear a cock crowing (he never stops!) and the river flowing over the rocks. The Mexicans walk by occasionally on the cobblestone street in front of me, or on the cobblestone pathway upon which my bench sits. They are a friendly lot, saying, “Hola,” each time they pass. Smiles are on their faces every time.

When I pause for words, looking up from my typing, I see flowers in abundance. Bougainvilleas are enormous here, and full of blooms. Hibiscus are as tall as buildings filled with colorful flowers. The trees’ brances are unique to me. They go up, then crooked, then back down to almost touch the river. Sometimes fruit or nuts fall from the trees, nearly missing me. Overhead are birds, always present. Less than ½ mile away is the Pacific Ocean, so cold, with its pounding waves and blue and green and grey waters.

I want this time in Puerto Vallarta to make me become a writer – I say, I “wanted” it to do so, for tomorrow is our last day here. I guess a location, no matter how exotic cannot make a writer. It is clear that that can only be accomplished by just sitting one’s buns down in a chair and writing! Daily. Daily, daily.

I just spend so much time wondering what I’m supposed to write about. What am I so high and mighty knowledgeable about? I feel as though I am not an authority on any subject at all, especially, particularly motherhood, which is what I think the Lord wants me to write about. If He wants m e to write to mothers, and if Tim believes that I can do it, then why not just take the plunge and do it? What could possibly go wrong? The type of “no” one gets in this publishing business is a written “no”. That is so much more easy to swallow than a face-to-face “no”, or a phone-call “no”. That is all I have to lose!

On the other hand, if I do not write, I will lose Tim’s trust in my self-discipline, God’s calling, and much more personally.

In this setting, on a wooden carved bench with my feet on a cobblestone path in Mismaloya village, with the river gurgling behind me as it passes over stones, beside the monstrous iguanas hiding in the rocks on the river edge, with the bougainvillea blooming in front of me, separating me from the vehicles carrying tourists to the mountains ---- in this place, this idyllic place, I say out loud, “I am a writer.” From now on , “I AM A WRITER.”

I WILL write every day. NOTHING will get in my way. NO INTERRUPTION will be placed in importance above this calling. I can take my writing with me wherever I am needed, whether it is in a hospital room or on a playground. I will take it, I will use my time wisely, and I WILL be self-disciplined.

* I will stop reading about writing – I have learned enough to start.
* I will stop scheduling writing time – instead, I will just write.
* I will stop giving excuses to myself because I am a busy mother – God knows that, yet He called me to write anyway.
* I will stop wondering what to write – instead, I will sit down and write, even if in sentence fragments; even if I write only, “I don’t know what to write.”
* I will stop wondering why I am such an authority. I will instead agree with God that I should be writing and leave the expert editing to Him.