Yesterday, in between making birds and watching football with Hubby, I was reading the book No Plot, No Problem. It's amusing so far. And it's true that when I think about writing I let my head get so twisted in what ifs that I don't get very far.
I spent a night of weird dreams of being in school and having a paper due. A history paper yet! The subject was of a man living in the back hill country of Guatamala or some other such place that is void of modern conveniences that I know nothing about. I started gleening little pictures of him in my mind. He made some kind of art (or furniture) that he carved from wood the old fashioned way. In my dream I could see his worn, brown, dry hands working the wood to smooth it. He had two small boys that he was trying to show his woodworking skills to but they were little children that just sat and snickered.
My paper was due the next day and I hadn't even started it! I talked to the teacher and walked with friends, one by one, that all gave me pieces of information about where this little town was and a few stories about this man and his family. How did they know this man?
Next thing I knew I was watching this same man making adobe out of straw and the deep red earth. He built adobe blocks that would be used in making houses in the poorest regions of Guatamala. Again the two small children were by his side but they had their hands in the wet earth as well.
When I awoke this morning, I felt as if I had labored all night long, worrying, troubling over this paper. I'm relieved to be awake, the sun peeking over the horizon, a fresh new day. Who knows, this man may have a name by tonight.