Phyllis Schieber Author

Women's Fiction by Phyllis Schieber

Birthdays and Writing

My idea of a perfect day was foiled from the start. I had planned to rise early, have some lovely coffee from freshly ground beans, and get to work. Of course, the phone rang at 7:30 with the first birthday well wisher. I’m in a lull now, grateful not to have to speak to anyone. Certainly. I could have opted not to take any calls–the blessings of Caller ID–but that seemed awfully rude and self-serving. Instead, I spoke to countless friends, a former student, etc., my son and his girlfriend. All very, very sweet and loving. Yet, I still haven’t had the chance to write, and the morning is soon gone. I’ll go to a yoga class, have lunch with two friends, and then come home to cloister myself for a few hours. I know that birthdays are something to celebrate. I’m 57 today, an event that seems mind boggling in light of the fact that my late mother was only 54 when my father passed. I’ve lost so many people dear to me, some at terribly young ages that I know I shouldn’t be cynical about birthdays. I miss my parents, my friend Bette, my sweet Polly, Freddy, Shelly, my in-laws, my sister-in-law Brenda, aunts and uncles… the list feels endless.  When I think of myself at 57, the idea is daunting. How is it possible when I still feel like I’m twenty-something inside. I have so many plans, so many hopes, so many books I want to write. I wonder if I am in a creative downturn now because I need to wait for my birthday to pass. I hope so because lately the words are not moving onto the paper, and I have this awful feeling that I am running out of time. But 57 is still young…right?


February 18, 2010 - Posted by | Writing | ,

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