The Stories I Tell ~ from The Word Cellar

Stories. Anecdotes. A free round of words for everyone!

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Location: Pennsylvania, United States

I love stories. I'm the one at social functions with a dozen new anecdotes. But I worry about hogging the conversation. Sometimes I tell myself that I'll be quiet and let others do the talking. But no matter how hard I try, my stories insist on bursting out! Here I can let my stories (the classics that I tell again and again, as well as new ones that unfold along the way) run free. I'm a professional writer and editor, and sole proprietor of The Word Cellar. I write for a variety of publications and clients on everything from green buildings and nuclear reactors to entrepreneurship and the arts. If you need words written, edited, or enlivened, I can help. Contact me.


Sacrificing for My Art

My butt hurts. As do the muscles in the front, back, and inner quadrants of my thighs. My calves? They're okay for the most part. But I may have some sort of hip flexor thing going on, too.

The culprit? Gardening.

This getting down on all fours and playing in the dirt is serious business, people. Serious on my body, anyway. It's as if my body is saying, "Wait, what? What is this pain? I'm used to sitting in a chair all day long, looking at that illuminated box you call a 'computer screen.' Why do I feel this way? Did we go back to that place you call 'the gym' and I missed it? Oh, wait.... I know. You had me pulling plants called 'weeds' out of the ground yesterday. Was that necessary?"

Apparently, it was. Not just for the sake of my garden and new landscaping, but also for the sake of this blog. It's been quiet around here. I haven't had much to say here or in my own private journal. No stories to tell. No amusing anecdotes. No life ponderings. I was beginning to think I'd lost my mojo; lost my ability to weave a tale out of the most mundane activities. But now my butt hurts and I'm back in business!

After playing in the dirt yesterday, I considered waxing poetic about the joys of getting in touch with nature; the earthy smell of fresh soil; the buds peeking out on my pear trees; the experience of being physical when I spend so much time being cerebral; the metaphors of digging deep and not knowing what you have until you really get in there. But garden and nature analogies? A dime a dozen, especially in the spring. So I thought I'd skip it and write this fluff instead. (But don't hold it against me if I wax poetic and add my penny's worth of a nature story some time in the future. I reserve that right.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to stretch and take a few Advil.

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add to kirtsy | 12:30 AM


Blogger Shalet said...

Tee hee. Last year I gave myself a raging case of tendonitis from a single day gardening. Every time I bent my wrist there was this awful creaking scratching sound eminating from my forearm. I had to wear a brace for a month. It's tough work gardening, tough work!

4/16/2008 5:24 PM  
Anonymous lisa said...

Right on, chickie!

I can soooo relate!

Who knew yard work could be so torturous?

Can't wait to see pics of the lovely things that will come out of your toil, though. In the end, it's all worth it.

I have lots of work to do in my yard. Haven't found the right moment yet to get out there. Wish you were here to help. :-)

4/18/2008 8:39 AM  
Blogger Jen Ballantyne said...

Oh it's that lovely, good, sort of hurt. The tired, hurting that says you've been playing in the garden or doing something worthwhile and most importantly, getting lost in the moment. I need me some of that kind of hurtin'. Love Jen B. xxx

4/20/2008 8:38 AM  

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