W R I T E R
An extra memorable way to end one of the finest, most exciting days of this writer's life (thus far -- hang tight, my peeps). 🤩 Mad props to my Ty (@mr.cleland ) for the rad scissorwork.
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#writer #transformation #spontaneous #writeon #abbeyclelandlopez #littlevictories #bigideas #writerslife #womanwriter #writinglife #ilovela
I live in a house. I am someone's wife. And occasionally, when Anthony works overnight, and the children are finally asleep, and the words begin to swim on the page, alerting me I may begin doing more harm than good, I sneak up to the guestroom and turn on Fiona or Tori or Tracy or Joni or Amy or Carly and end up looking something like this. I've never identified as a "housewife," but I'm thinking it's reasonable that these components [ house + wife + occasional throwback beauty habit ] fit me squarely in this demo, this demo that OUR White House's worst-ever tenant assumes supports his racist policy. But here's the thing, the "housewives" I know, you know, married women in houses who may also occasionally wear curlers -- this must be the definition, right? I'll ask Betty Friedan and Matthew Weiner later -- we are ambitious, critical-thinking, open-minded, big-hearted types with soft bellies and sharp talons. We read. We analyze. We feel. We DO. We contribute more value to the people in our care the first hour of any given morning than he has all term, and likely all his life. We don't like messes because we are the ones who do the picking up. What a monstrous deplorable mess this insecure toddler has made. I've always loved witches, in part because of their dope wheels (🧹), but now I'm thinking it's a powerful symbol witches and housewives share. I, generally and specifically, LOVE people and LOATHE politics. Because of this very dilemma, November can't come soon enough. Brooms up, ladies. 🧹🏛🧹
#broomsup #womenwritersofinstagram #whenweallvote #witchesunite #voteearly #abbeyclelandlopez #peacelovevote #writinglife #614artist #votingmatters #votevotevote
So maybe you're a writer and you think you have friends. Here's how to check. Tell them you're on deadline and the electricity is out in your office. If they hand over the keys to their home without hesitation, congratulations! You have the best friend a writer can ever, ever have. Treat them like gold, acknowledge them in print when possible, and resist filling your Yeti with their high-end booze. (At least until you've hit "send.") @slipkin22 💋#abbeyclelandlopez
End of a long day on set.
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#writersofinstagram #writer #screenwriting #screenwriter #amwriting #onset #writeon #abbeyclelandlopez writeon #womanwriter
3 years ago today -- 3 weeks before meeting my darling Annie Girl -- I was headed, once again, back to L&D. ⚡️ Just looking at this, the stress was so consuming, I can actually FEEL it now. ⚡️ I did not enjoy being pregnant, and I do not believe I was very good at it. Heaps of gratitude and anticipatory joy bouyed me through the fear, miserable meds, prelabor paranoia, etc. I was entirely, deeply in love with my children before we met eyes; meanwhile, I found carrying them physically in my body entirely, deeply unnatural. [And yes, this word choice is intentional and true. It's just how it felt for me. Still, to this day, I'm shocked, genuinely, that I did that, grew like that, and not in any kind of pat-oneself-on-the-back kind of way, more like "Who possibly thought THAT was a reasonable idea!?" kind of way.] Anyway. For these reasons, I don't revisit my pregnancies. And really, why would I when the priceless gifts they provided are fully animated and autonomous now, just in front of my nose or clinging to my legs where they belong, requesting ice cubes, glue sticks, and 'squeezy Mama hugs?' [🤗] But, lately, unintentionally, some visceral pregnancy memories are flickering back, and I think I know why. Then and now are such different times, but hard times all the same. I used to have to repeat to Bewildered Pregnant Abbey, "You only need enough strength for today. Tomorrow's strength will arrive tomorrow." And it always did. And it always does. And it always will. I don't know if anyone at all may benefit from reading this, but just in case, there it is, here it is.... Tilt your head up to what I like to imagine are the heavens for a "Serenity now...! / For the love...! / WTF...! Whyyyy...?" exhale, then just keep hanging on. And if hanging on feels harder than you think it should, please message me. I'm here. I mean it. ❤️ [Squeezy virtual hugs.]
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#pregnancydiary #writingmotherhood #mamadiaries #womenwriters #pregnancysupport #womenwhowrite #writinglife #abbeyclelandlopez #preggolife #writeon #writersofig #abbeyclelandlopez #pregnantproblems #writerwoman #keepcalmcarryon #mamapower
Seventeen years ago today, during an also damp, unseasonably warm February, we fell in love. ("Fell" implies it was unintentional; "fell" is accurate.)
We had been very good friends for two years, happy roommates for three months, and roommates with ricocheting sexual tension for several torturous weeks. Those days, every time our eyes locked, in the kitchen, on the couch, after your quick shower, before my long shower, you had me biting my lip. Literally.
It occurred to me that we were in love in the early afternoon. I felt defeated (which is also to say that I was a novice writer). When you returned home from Prior Library, you took one look at me, grabbed your keys, and drove me to a playground to swing. It's hard to feel defeated on a swing, but especially if you're talking to a boy who studies relentlessly, turns beautiful double plays, and cares deeply about your (often fictional) obstacles.
I think it occurred to you that we were in love later that evening. It was an even safer setting -- also public, chaperoned by all of our friends -- but I'm very flirty in bowling alleys. I always expect I'll be a much better bowler than I've ever been. There are never enough seats. Had there been enough seats, I would've still found your knee.
Like most of life's very best, purest things, it began that wholesomely. A soggy playground, a smoky bowling alley, but the tension.... The tension landed us in a fantastic, and fantastically distressing predicament.
I had big sparkly plans. You had heavy serious anchors. We'd live 2,300 miles apart for years, until finally, thank God, thank you, thank me, we wouldn't.
