Another Minute, Please
Only as I put my fingers to the keyboard did I put a figurative finger on a feeling I’ve been trying to identify since sitting down here to write: It’s as if I’m running outside for the first time after a long stretch of pounding out the miles on the treadmill, and I’m trying to take everything in while remembering how to properly pace myself and to breathe. There’s too much to see, to hear, to try to sort through as I rediscover my outdoor running groove along familiar routes.
It has been a while since I’ve written “outside”, what with the majority of my writing over the past few weeks or so being kept to my journal and e-mails and the sporadic social media update. And I’ve long squelched any sort of serious foray into fiction writing. (Yes, that includes what I as of late have dubbed “Ze Book” (said with a Pepé Le Pew-inspired accent).) Partly because I do still forget at times stories do matter, that this God-designed imaginations can be used well. And, well … Writing is also work. Not a profound or new observation, I know. But sometimes I’d still like to avoid that aspect of it, to have the words effortlessly fill page after page after page as I sit in a warmly lit coffee shop.
A gal can dream … But she also needs to know when it’s time to get to work. And it’s that time for me.
(If I’m not back here on Friday, I will be next week Wednesday at the latest – I still need to decide how often I’m going to post here, at least for the next stretch of time.) (Also, I now know the logo scroll *does not happen* on mobile devices. So there you go. Or don't, as the case may be.)