Beth Mende Conny's Blog

Once upon a time, perhaps not long ago — one year, one month, one week, one day — you felt a creative urge overtake you. Seemingly, it came from nowhere and whispered in your ear: release me. It longed to enter the world, to take shape and live and breathe. It spoke to you. It knew you.

For a moment you paused. You felt the planets shift as your focus shifted. The important tasks and filler of everyday life fell away. Poof. Gone. It was just you and your Idea, alone in a lovely world of your creation.

You began to write — on paper, at the keyboard, in your mind. You let yourself go and flow and before you knew it, your Idea began to write you. And you fell in love.

This love remains. It is as powerful as a first kiss. Awkward, passionate, heartbreaking. Memorable. The kiss — your Idea — longs to be relived, to move from once upon a time to now.

So open your heart, let your creativity overtake you. Whisper in its ear, “I hear you,” “I love you,” then prove it. Write.

As a fellow writer, I thought you would enjoy these. I wish I had written them, but, alas, they arrived in an email. Kudos to the author!

• Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.
• One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.
• Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
• If man evolved from monkeys and apes, why do we still have monkeys and apes?
• The main reason that Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.
• I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, “Where’s the self-help section?” She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.
• What if there were no hypothetical questions?
• Is there another word for synonym?
• If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?
• If the police arrest a mime, do they tell him he has the right to remain silent?
• One nice thing about egotists: They don’t talk about other people.
• Does the Little Mermaid wear an algaebra?
• Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?
• Is it possible to have a Civil War?
• If one synchronized swimmer drowns, do the rest drown too?
• If you ate both pasta and antipasto, would you still be hungry?
• If you try to fail and succeed, which have you done?
• Why are hemorrhoids call “hemorrhoids” instead of “assteroids”?
• Why is there an expiration date on sour cream?
• Can an atheist get insurance against acts of God?

One day in second grade, while reading a Weekly Reader — a mini newspaper for students that featured articles about interesting people, places and things – I came across a short article about a 6-year-old girl who had published a book of poetry. Because she didn’t know how, literally, to write, she dictated the poems to her mother and, voila, she became an author.

Although I don’t remember the girl’s name, I do remember thinking, “Oh no! I’m seven and I still haven’t published!” Embarrassingly, I continued to utter those words well into my 20s, when I began publishing steadily. Even today, I utter a variation of them: “Oh no! I’m entering my middle years and still haven’t published my most important work!”

I’m willing to bet that similar words have slipped into your conversations with others or even with yourself. Such words belong to the universal language of writers. Share them as we may, however, they don’t necessarily give us strength. Ultimately, all writers stand – and sit – alone.

Sitting down to write is key; it is your only means for quieting the negative Muzak playing in your mind. I know this as fact, just as I know that to quiet is not to rid. My publish or perish fears will always be part of my life. I’m learning, still with difficulty, to accept the inevitable. And so I sit. … and sit … and sit.

The great thing in this world is not so much where you stand, as in what direction you are moving.
— Oliver Wendell Holmes

Our writing — our very words — have a power to move. Not just others, but ourselves. So make your world great; let your words take you in new directions.

Ideas are a shot of adrenaline; they engage our minds, make our spirits soar.

An idea travels at the speed of sound. It comes to us in a flash, unfolds just as quickly. It takes us right to the punch line, delivering a vision of our finished work in all its glory — something that shimmers, sparkles, shines, and changes lives.

Ideas are all these things and more. Ultimately, however, ideas are, well, just ideas. If we are to write — a book, an article, whatever — they must become more. They must move from the ephemeral to the actual.

They must be acted upon.