Why Write?

Today we have a new member of the Blog Team, Laura Lofgreen, as we say goodbye to Jolene Perry. Welcome, Laura!  ~~Marsha

by Laura Lofgreen

Last night, there was a cricket chirping in my closet. Mr. Cricket started out chirping somewhat sweet, like I’m camping under the stars on an autumn night, then its chirping grew insanely loud, making me wonder “Who gave the cricket a microphone?”

“I can’t sleep like this,” I said as I rolled over to my husband. “Make it stop.”

The love of my life jumps out of bed and turns the light on. “Where is it?” he asks, squinting into the closet, ever the protector of our home.

“The bug spray is out in the shed. Please spray it with poison,” is my deviant request.

With just a grumble (from my husband, not the cricket), the love of my life puts on his flip flops and heads out into our backyard shed in search of bug poison.

And what do I do?

Do I actively look for the cricket and put it to its death with the back of a shoe?

Do I fold laundry, trying to look busy so I don’t feel guilty just lying here while my husband is outside in the 90 degree midnight heat?

Do I hang up that towel crumbled on the floor that I used after my evening swim?

No, my friends, I do not. I do what any good writer would do. I start to think of book titles, cricket colonies with an evil villain and a microphone, wondering how this very experience will work into my next novel. I wonder about my blog; thinking of a very clever title for my next post, laughing just slightly under my breath when my husband walks back into the bedroom with bug poison.

“What’s so funny,” he says as he trips over the damp towel I have crumbled up on the floor.

“I think I’m going to get up and write,” I say, getting out of bed.

My husband is used to this. He doesn’t even try to convince me otherwise, and for this I love him. I can hear him in the closet as I turn the lights on in the office.

Other then the cricket, the house is quiet. It’s just me and my computer, with a little new age music playing in the background.

An hour later, after eating more then I’d like to mention of dark chocolate chips, I’m several pages into my unfinished manuscript and I decided it’s time for bed.

I tip-toe into my bedroom and quietly slip into bed when I realize I don’t hear the cricket anymore and I can finally sleep in silence, if only I could turn off the keyboard in my mind.