Out of the Writers' Block

True to form, I'm joining the blogosphere (isn't that what this medium/environment is called?) with scant planning. It just seems it's past time to do it. I'm supposed to be a "professional writer," after all. (How the heck did that happen?) This'll be good practice.

Do I really think others will care what I have to say? Do I want my words - scrambled as they often are - splattered all over the planet?

Well, no matter. I just re-read Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird." I need to let the story that wants to be told ... be told. Or something like that.

The Writers' Block is the team name we gave to our little department when we entered the first grown-up spelling bee for literacy a few years ago. We got logos and t-shirts and everything. Pretty cool. Lost miserably both years we competed. So sure of my spelling prowess starting out (I did come in second place in the county spelling bee in sixth grade - THIS close to going to the national competition in D.C. Harumph). I'll never mis-spell polonaise or mastodon again. Well, probably not.

I don't recall who named us the Writers' Block. Ann? Scott? Me? Denise? So many memories ... mashed-potato sculptures and Haiku for our JPRs. On-Scott and Ann-Star. Handstands. As our numbers dwindle, we need to draw on those good times more than ever.

So, this is my first foray out of the Writers' Block. My big toe dipped in the water.