January 21: Working, Weaving, and Praying

I'm watching a documentary on PBS about J. D. Salinger at the moment.  The thing that strikes me about him is that he worked all the dime.  Writing was his life.  It gave him meaning, helped him understand who he was.  Salinger stopped publishing in 1965.  But he kept writing.  Every day.  For over 40 years.

I aspire to write daily.  It's one of the reasons I blog.  Blogging is my excuse.  After I've registered surgical patients, after I've taught at the university, after I've gotten my son to bed, I sit down, open up my laptop, and start to type.  I used to blog in the early morning.  Right now, my habit is to work at night, like Charlotte:

Charlotte tore quite a section out of her web, leaving an open space in the middle.  Then she started weaving something to take the place of the threads she had removed.  When Templeton got back from the dump, around midnight, the spider was still at work.

I don't always write things of worth.  In fact, I rarely accomplish more than laying bare my insecurities and worries.  That doesn't always make for compelling reading.  It makes for whining and angst and melancholy.  You know, writerly preoccupations.

I'm not writing whining tonight.  Tonight, I want to offer a little prayer for the work I do.

Dear Lord of Labor,

Bless these words I'm typing.  Let them do the work they need to do.  I don't know who's reading them.  I don't know what impact they're having, if any at all.  But let the work be good.  Let the words be good.  And give me the gift of words again tomorrow.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

Salinger worked the words