W R I T E R
THE TASK
At first, it’s impossible. The biggest, hardest, worst thing:
Accept that she doesn’t like you anymore
Ace the math final
Save every dollar you can
Get over him for real, don’t even let him walk in your mind
Find meaning, humility, and growth in rejection
Stay soft and nimble while the world tries to make you bitter and stiff
Admit it: your hero no longer deserves the title; assume it yourself
Stake a boundary where you never wanted one; defend it ruthlessly
Take the medicine so the baby doesn’t come too soon
Don’t let the dark thoughts narrate
Set an alarm for every two hours; missing a warning sign could ruin your life
In the middle, it becomes shockingly doable. Habits are formed, muscles gain memory. From far away, you look effortless. In a clip, you sound cocky.
Toward the end, it’s impossible again. Possibly even less possible than at the start.
The monster sees you’ve made headway. He throws everything at you to ensure you fall off-course:
Doubt, distraction, booze, sugar
Insatiable libido, unearned gifts
Unwelcome attention, empty promises
Requests disguised as obligations
(All to be filed under "Shit You Don’t Need.”)
When he sees you’re not deterred, he’ll try to make you think it’s enough that you came this far. Instead of bleeding, sweating, shaking your way to gold, here’s a participation trophy and a giftcard for a very nice manicure at a very nice spa. He’ll throw in a neck massage and a croissant bigger than your crossbody.
But you didn’t come this far to only come this far....
In this final hour, there’s no light. No flowers, no coffee, no cards. No one's cheering, no one's watching, no one cares. You wonder if they ever did. (“Wondering” satisfies the monster; don’t stay here long.)
This hour is about 3 things:
1. Dodging the unnecessary shit hurled at you.
2. Not undoing the good you achieved.
3. Moving forward.
When you’re actually done, dance, laugh, indulge, give, spend, take. Feel this release for as long and as intensely as possible. For this night only, the monster sleeps. Tomorrow, when you add the achievement to the list of biggest, hardest, worst things, you’ll begin to discredit it, just as a new task appears.
Every August 1st, I'm as tan as I get, as social as I get, as round as I get, as restless as I get. I've consumed big bowls of ripe watermelon -- the kind of bowls intended to sit on Mormons' dining tables, not my lap as I watch Absolutely Fabulous at 3am, descending from the writing high.
Since April, I've watched the men run around the bases. By August, aren't they tired? They look tired. Who isn't tired?
Come August, the chlorinated, coconut-oiled, cut-grass nostalgia runs dry, and I'm ready for the social parade to slow then stall then dissipate.
A chorus of sensible moms in denim and Clinique, the moms from my childhood, say, sagely, "You've been out long enough."
When I go out anyway, because I do what I want -- I, too, am a sensible mom just in pleather and Urban Decay -- I jog alone, now to Green Day, not Betty Who.
I pass a red, white, and blue streamer caught in the underbelly of a bush. It's no longer lingering evidence of summer fun; it's litter. I really should come out with a bag and pick all that shit up.
(See, Abbey? You HAVE become a mom. The children made you Mother. These impulses make you Mom.)
When I return home, I don't search for the cocktail recipe you mentioned. I watch another video on composting.
Come August, I want to find value in every scrap and scrape. Come August, I want be rich and fertile and beautiful on the inside.
I want to eat stew and think, in serious terms, about art and health and connection. I'm glad you had a lovely vacation, but that was July chatter. Now I want to hear, concretely, what helps you stay sane, kind, productive, alive.
Deliver me your best Wise Human Cliff Notes, ranked and bullet-pointed.
By August, I'm ready for tights, shawls, cardigans -- this is to say, garments that conceal. I want to wear too much mascara and not enough blush. I want to again see how beautiful we all are by the fire.
Most of all, I want to see what beauty remains when it's all not so sunkissed, lush, obvious.
Summer is a magazine cover. A glossy tease. By August, I want the feature. I want to see truth.
#dorothyparker #abfab #greenday #urbandecay #motherhood #momswhowrite #abbeyclelandlopez #writeeveryday
Make no mistake, my creative dears: True passion projects are fucking ruthless.
If you don't feed them, they'll eat you.
#writinglife #writeon #writeearly #writelate #midnightoil #stayhungry #stayfocused #staytuned #makeart #abbeyclelandlopez #inthemargins
How you babies doing on this most Mondayest Monday? Sometimes after my birthday I temporarily become a Scorpio.... 🤭☠️ (Anyone else morph?! .... Could also be my current moody protag.) Much thanks to whoever left me the single red rose. How did you know I was feeling theatrical? (I'm guessing it was you, Ed. So now I'll get to work, like you, Ed.💋)
#writinglife #abbeyclelandlopez
Packed most of the house nary a pause/thought/reflection, until this moment, in sacred #fionaapple sweats, blasting #daisythegreat , removing titles from shelves. Heart juuust caught up to mind/body/calendar. Wild.
(And don't worry, babies. You're all coming along. 📚📚📚)
#bookstagram #booksy #shelfie #fortheloveofbooks #writersofig #writeon #writerwoman #abbeyclelandlopez #fictionwriting #blondeambition #dropeverythingandread
How is everyone? Do I know anyone else who is still home ALL the time, as if it's late March or April or May or June or July or August or September? As if a pandemic is still raging? Oh, please don't answer that. I may be in what some could call "a mood," and feel salty about some particular answers, and that's honestly not me, not my style, not good for anyone, not what's in my heart. 🧡 We, my family, have very good reasons to stay put all the time, so we do. Every every every day. 🧡 I did, however, do something very out of the usual today. I picked up a gown from the tailor. I had dropped it off on March 3rd for an early April wedding that would never be. My adored tailor has been stranded in Thailand, while I've been firmly rooted 4 miles from the shop. None of this matters, except that she did an excellent job, and when this era comes to a close, which it will -- no doubt -- I'm wearing that gown (sooo yummy: a floor-length, colorblocked, structured, strappy-backed, secondhand designer stunner) as soon and often as possible. 🧡 So. Carry on. I love you. I feel you. We really are in this together. (Unless we're not, and then please feel free to kindly + temporarily eff off. (Told you. Salty! 💋💋) xx Real Human Experiencing Real Things #abbeyclelandlopez
