on porches and idea hoarding.

I wrote a bit today about porches. It's not very serious and not very deep. I was thinking of hoarding it away into the writing land-of-no-return. The place where things I've written will wait until they're ready (never). I imagine that I'll tweak them now and again and someday I'll find the right place for them. Just gotta wait for the time to come.

This idea hoarding is something I do often. Maybe you do it too? I'm not much of a physical hoarder (actually, I get a strange satisfaction out of throwing things away, which is another story). But I hoard special things and ideas. Do you know what I mean?

The beautiful handmade paper I got as a birthday present? Still carefully wrapped and stored. The canvas I picked up a year ago? Still blank. The hand spun yarn a friend passed on to me? Still bundled. It's not that I'm unmotivated or incapable of being creative. Give me some cheap yarn and I'll knit you a mile of scarves. But I hoard special things for the right occasion or perfect moment. Well, I do the same thing with ideas. I get it started and then think, This idea could be really great, but it's not ready yet. I'll save it for later.

Wrong. I am only just beginning to understand that if you want to write, there is no saving it. The writing and the ideas are for now. You just have to put them out there, put them on the paper, use them up. Why? More will come. I have this on fairly good authority

One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. - Annie Dillard

but I still have a hard time making myself believe it. I guess there's only one way to find out.

Lately I've been having fits of intense gratefulness.  In these fits, I say things (to myself) like, Holy moly girl look at your life. It is good. And I find myself thinking: What is the point of life if all we do is save the good things for later? I don't just mean handmade stationery and writing whims. I mean the good things that make life good. I mean not taking yourself too seriously, I mean spending a lazy Sunday with someone you love, I mean eating butter (and lots of it). Let yourself enjoy the good things now - maybe now is as much later as you'll get.

I don't mean to be gloomy and morbid, only to encourage living now rather than later. Also to encourage writing now rather than later. But mostly to get my own butt in gear so that I can put some words on the page with a little faith that more words will come along next time.

***

I want to tell you about the glory of a porch. I can't tell you why exactly, but a porch is good. Honestly, I'm a little obsessed. A porch is the sole feature of my dream house. I don't even need a house really, just a porch. Ok, I guess I might also need a bedroom/bathroom/kitchen. But I mostly dream of sitting on a porch and doing porchy things.

A porch is the perfect place to be alone but not quite. You're still home, but you're outside enough to smile and nod at folks on the sidewalk or across the fence, to hear the sounds of traffic, to watch the world go by (as a friend once put it). I also know it's the perfect place to sit on a swing, to read and write, to drink some coffee, to hold hands, to be content. It's the perfect place to be quiet with other people, to sit still, to be alone but not lonely.

Right now I have a deck which overlooks a fluorescent lit street. And bunch of scary wires. And a disturbingly large American flag in the neighbor's backyard. Seating includes a broken beach chair and a musty stool. So if you are somewhere with a couple trees, a handful of rocking chairs and (obviously) a porch - sit on it for me tonight.