I have not written since June.
Ugh. That statement makes me borderline nauseous. I should probably call it a confession, rather than a statement. Sure, I have dabbled with a scene here and there. Yeah, I’ve posted a blog entry or two. But since I finished the final draft and revisions of Champion Chocolatier in June, I haven’t really written ANY ONE THING from start to completion.
I sold a house and bought a house, and moved into that new house. We painted a few walls, and bought some new furniture. I started a new job and so did my husband. My kids started new schools and daycares, and we acclimated to life in a new town. We found a new place to get our hair cut, and oil changed, and tried several pizza places until we found our new favorite (Pizza Corral).
I published two books
I edited, promoted, communicated with graphic designers and artists and indie publishers for those two books. I did guest blog posts and ran contests and and booked/held events and signed into Createspace a thousand times for those two books.
I hired a business coach.
I met with her several times to plan out my career path and plan of action. I attended classes on business promotion through Pinterest. I worked hard to put all of my new knowledge into action. I had professional photographs taken and paid to have my website recreated. I launched a new email campaign and automation that included free gifts I designed on my new favorite digital software called Canva. I sold some books.
I have done a lot in the past seven months. But I did not write.
I was in Barnes and Noble one day in December (one of the perks of living in a larger city) and stumbled upon this book.
I frequently pick up books like this. Another confession, I own more “journals” than I can count, and carry at least one if not two with me at all times… not to mention the few others that are within reach of my “home office” (as my husband calls it). (aka: the beautiful chaise lounge in our living room. *See new furniture mentioned above.) Despite these last rambling statements, less often than I pick journals up, do I actually purchase them. But this one was different.
Instead of blank pages, or self-proclaimed cheesy prompts (Write a story that highlights your personal strengths. Be you! Be great!), these story starters were interesting, and varied and I’ll just say it, cool. The cover was appealing and the price was great ($9.98), so I whipped out my fun money and walked out with a brand new journal.
I decided to try and write in my new found treasure as often as possible. I also decided that I would skip the time-suck of self selecting a prompt that fit my mood/whim/muse and force myself to go through the book in order.
It is now February 2. I have written in my lovely little read book 6 times. Not nearly as much as I would like, but it’s a start. And you know what? It feels GOOD. Last night I finished up the short story of the day and peeked at the next page to see what prompt was waiting for me to spill my ink and thoughts upon it tomorrow. I read the lines and couldn’t resist.
Even though it was 10:18. Even though I was exhausted. Even though each morning as I drag myself out of bed I vow to go to get back into it as early as possible. Even though… I still wrote. I got a quarter of the way down the page before I gave in. The story was started and would be waiting for me tomorrow. My unconscious brain could mull over the possibilities as I slept.
These stories are short. Just a page. But it feels good to be writing again. I look forward to sharing some of them with you soon. Until then, happy reading, happy writing, happy living.