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What The Ostrich Saw
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John Caruso
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May 26, 2005 09:36 PDT
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“What The Ostrich Saw”
When the ostrich sticks his head in the sand, he still sees something.
He may see darkness, he may see the amazing cities of the reclusive
mole-people, or he may get an eyeful of sand. In the end, though, he
sees something.
I stuck my head in the sand. I tried to pretend that it hadn’t been a
long time since my last Daily Grind. I thought about just going ahead
and writing this installment as if nothing had happened, as if the
several months since my last post were merely days. But that didn’t feel
right because I saw something.
It’s so easy to let our lack of writing snowball into weeks or months or
years. I’ve done it (twice now, as you loyal subscribers can attest—that
is, if you’re still out there). I’m sure most everyone has done it to
some degree. In the time since I last submitted a Daily Grind, I was
only…familiar…with my creative writing. I tried to keep up, but work and
life and Newton’s first law kept getting in the way. Like the pages on
Charles Foster Kane’s calendar, time flew by and before I knew it,
October turned into May. I hadn’t written a Daily Grind and I had only a
smattering of creative pages to show for my time. The longer this went
on, the deeper my head went into the sand.
But then I saw something: I realized the writing is always there for us.
We leave and when we come back the writing is waiting with a beverage
and a sandwich. Sure we argue sometimes. We tussle over who has control,
who gets to dictate how time is spent, who should pick up the tab.
However, it does gets resolved. When we’re ready, we get back to the
thing that is always there for us: the writing.
Do I feel bad that I let these months slip by without producing a novel
or at least a few reams of polished pages? Yes and no. Sure, I would
like to have something tangible to point to, but I also know that my
time, my experiences, my everyday comings and goings since the last post
have settled into my head as creative compost. I hope you see the past
few months in the same way.
For now, think about how your life has changed since last October. Think
about all of the things that have happened, expected and unexpected,
during that time. Pull out your notebook and start jotting them down.
They may be major events such as weddings, births, or funerals. Perhaps
you came one number short of winning the lottery or found that earring
your great-aunt Mildred gave you, the one you thought you lost when you
were on that hike outside of Boulder. Or perhaps you’ll think about
those tiny moments that ultimately make up life, like that Saturday
afternoon when you found a dollar on the ground and bought a candy bar
or when you suddenly figured out what that damned song was that had been
going through your head for two days and driving you absolutely bonkers.
Whatever may have happened to you, it is worthy of writing down. Like
us, our characters are made up of experiences.
And now I rip my head from the sand and brush myself off. I’d like to
think that I caught a glimpse of those fabulous mole-people cities after
all, even if I did get a few grains of sand in my eye.
John Caruso
caruso-@gmail.com
(please note the new e-mail address)
Copyright 2005, John Caruso
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