I’m finally reading Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg–one of those classics that appears on almost every list of essential books on the writing craft–and I’m really enjoying it. Nothing about Goldberg’s kind observations makes me feel guilty about my recent lack of writing productivity, but I did decide last week that I wanted to put some of her strategies into practice, so I’ve started handwriting in my journal for 15 minutes every day. Much of what I’ve written is probably interesting only to me. One of Goldberg’s big points is to practice writing concretely rather than abstractly, so I’ve been doing detailed but not particularly lyrical descriptions of things like the house we lived in until I was seven and the sky in front of me while I was sitting on the patio the other morning. But this morning, I wrote something that has a little bit of humor and a little bit of a life lesson–the kind of thing I like to share on this blog–so here it is, with some very light editing for clarity.

I’m wearing this shirt that I bought last year at the church bookstore because it was on deep clearance and I was standing around bored. I’m not even sure why we were selling it in the church bookstore because there’s nothing particularly Christian about it, but we do sell a lot of basic-Midwestern-woman-of-a-certain-age stuff in the store. (I don’t say “white” because I know some non-white women who like this kind of stuff. It is a widespread phenomenon.) Anyway, this shirt. It has one of those lists that Sarah and Mark [my siblings] and I like to make fun of: spiced apple cider, crisp air, pumpkin pie…(that’s just the part I can read while sitting in bed. The bottom probably says, “hayrides and hoedowns.”). Then in the middle of the shirt, in that ubiquitous hard-to-read script, it says, “But I love fall most of all.” I’m not sure why the “but,” since there’s no contrast being made. I guess the shirt just wants to be argumentative. Also, my wearing of the shirt is a lie, since fall is not my favorite season, and that is how I interpret the claim, “I love fall most of all.”

The bottom line is that I can’t decide whether I need to wear the shirt ironically (i.e. by making mocking comments about it whenever I wear it). The fact is that I do enjoy all the items on the list, at least those I can see. (Okay, I just looked. I do enjoy the other things too, though hayrides make my eyes itchy.) My conflict over this shirt probably has to do with deep-rooted identity issues and my desire to appear not to be exactly what I am, a basic Midwestern woman of a certain age. By the way, we’ve started selling scented candles in the bookstore, with names like “Vanilla Delight,” and I really want one.