I'm Not Writing...

 I'm Not Writing

It is January again, and if I ever tested my own hypothesis, I would find, I'm sure, that my productivity graph (writing-wise) reaches its nadir  at this time each year.  Perhaps it is the task of writing the inescapable Christmas letter that looms over the entire months of November and December. Or the Advent Devotional that does the same thing for October and November. Perhaps it is all the communication  that accompanies the season: eggnog parties and cookie parties and tree-trimming parties and New Year's get-togethers and all the other events and occurrences that involve being generally pleasant to all and sundry. Or maybe I am just naturally curmudgeonly at this time of year.  

Whatever the reason, in January, I am like the Jason Robards character in "A Thousand Clowns" (a movie that I love, to this day..) who emerges from his house in the final scene and says, sadly, "Campers, I have nothing more to say." One can only talk and be worth listening to for so long.  I've run out of pleasantries, information, witty remarks, and, even worse, ideas. The January well is dry.

The good news (for me, at least) is that this vocal and written paralysis always seems to run its course and be gone in about a month. This year, I am taking advantage of the cordial separation of me and my writing muse to tackle some of the more physical tasks that require more brawn than brain, more action than discussion, more motivation than actual work. 

So, on the agenda for this month are a number of tasks I've managed to postpone for far too long--the things that have been lurking in the back of my brain and have gotten so comfortable there that it's difficult to drag them to the fore:

• My typewriter. While I don't use it much anymore, it was my constant companion through high school and college and graduate school. It deserves a better retirement than I've given it. It is, after all, a vintage 1930s Royal portable. My grandmother gave it to me when I was a kid because it had been my uncle's, after whom I was named. When we moved, I took it out of storage and deposited it on a desk in the new house, promising myself I'd find someone who could restore it and at least give it a new ribbon.  Then I promptly pushed the idea to my mental back room, where it has been smirking and lolling about for over a year. (This week, I drove to Silver Spring and dropped the typewriter for cleaning and service at Kensington Business Machines.)

·      

• Claire's sock monkey: Okay, she's only six months old, but I bought the socks, the stuffing, and located my needle and thread. Then I decided that it would be much more resistant to wear and tear if I reinforced seams with a sewing machine. I had no sewing machine. Claire's monkey joined the other good intentions, smirking and lolling.  (I found an inexpensive sewing machine this week. It is threaded and bobbin-ed and ready to go. No more monkeying around.)

·      

• My printer. When we set up our computers and the wireless network in this house, I was told it would be easy to set up our printer as a wireless printer, so that I didn't have to carry my laptop over and perch on the chair next to it and plug in the cable every time I wanted to print. Well, I've been perching and plugging for over a year now. It's about time I do something about adding the printer to our network. The problem is that it requires the disk for our printer, which has disappeared to some physical no-man's-land where it, too, has decided to live, making snarky remarks at my expense. It made an appearance when I was clearing stuff out for the holidays, but I did not seize it and lock it away. Next on my list: fix the printer. Even if I have to pay a geek-for-hire in to do it .

The list goes on, as you might expect. I have a bathroom I've wanted to paint since we moved, but was always missing some critical item necessary for doing so. I have a great idea for something to hang on the wall after the painting's done, so maybe I will now force myself to do all the preliminary stuff and then actually apply paint to the walls. In any case, there are far more items to accomplish than I can possibly handle this month, or even in the next several months. What I need to do is to extend my procrastination rehabilitation program (PRP, anyone?) indefinitely into 2012. JC tells me I don't need a PRP so much as I need a PAK--a professional ass-kicker. I fear he's right. Maybe I can figure out a way to combine it with my so-called writing life. We shall see.

But, for the moment, I have a few accomplishments to point out for my dry January. If there is a moral here (and I'm not sure there is) it would be that there's always an alternative that will present itself. Or maybe the lesson is that if you leave something long enough, sooner or later, you'll get it done. Or what goes around, comes around. I don't know. Pick your platitude. I don't have to conclude anything. I'm not writing this month.