TIME CAPSULES

by Beth Bernobich
(c) December 2000

Time, they say, is a river. The image implies a continuous stream, and yet, our days come in fleeting increments, which vanish before we can gather enough moments in which to write.

We have children and parents. We have houses or jobs or communities, all of which compete for time. We have our internal censors, who deride and heckle and remind us of obligations that cannot wait their turn. And so often, we succumb. We set aside our writing, promising to return once we complete every other task.

We have promised the impossible, because those tasks will not end until our lives do.

Some will never return to writing. Those other "obligations" might supplant the urge to write, which is not necessarily a tragedy for that person — a life filled with other joys is not a life wasted. But for some, the need to write will not disappear, no matter how many duties intervene.

Are you that person? Have you tried to write every day, only to find that time slides and slips through your fingers, as elusive as water?

Find a time capsule — fifteen minutes that you reserve utterly for yourself. In fifteen minutes, you can write a sentence, or sometimes a paragraph. In fifteen minutes, you can make progress.

Obviously, half an hour is better, and in one hour you can immerse yourself in a story to the point where words connect more easily, but we are talking possibilities.

Fifteen minutes while the baby naps. Fifteen minutes before spouse and children wake up. Fifteen minutes with a notebook during lunch break.

Time capsules require fidelity. Time capsules sometimes require isolation. Get up before children claim your attention. Lock yourself in the car at lunch, if necessary. That thin wall between you and the world can provide the inner stillness necessary to create the next piece of your story.

Let us write.§