I am joining fellow writers on Kate Motaung's blog who are doing a bi-weekly online discussion group.We are using On Being a Writer: 12 Simple Habits For A Writing Life That Lasts by Ann Kroeker and Charity Singleton Craig. I am personally reading Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg as inspiration.
I come through the door, perspiration crawling down my neck and face. Changing clothes happens after I grab my laptop. My hair is wonky, gym clothes clingy but I start by setting up my desktop to write. Images scroll up first as I look through in I-Photo. For reasons I have not entirely scoured out, I can't write if I don't have a good image to precede my words. The image holds colors, textures, and white space that lets me breathe out word images.
Once I have an image I make breakfast. Yogurt, blueberries with granola often sit by the little table next to my comfy chair. Ah, the writing chair is the best chair in the house. Facing away from the front window it floods me with light but it does not steal my gaze.
Now I start pecking away at the keys on my laptop. Often I stop and put my hand under my chin and think. Ideas float around me like steam from my herb tea. I don't do caffeine but I do love a warm drink.
What am I sitting with today?
What brings me joy and makes me ribbistrate or what is gnawing on my conscience.
There are themes in my life. I see them because the labels for my blogposts tell me what I write about most. Some are my artful life, my children and grandchildren, books that change my perspectives, and writing. Deeper themes weave through these blogpost labels, needing forgiveness, my reliance on Jesus Christ, not feeling good enough, and holding space for change. I may not have conquered these themes but they do not hold me hostage. Their grasp on my heart is manageable because I write about them. Processing the feelings by writing has made them understandable.
My writing time is in the morning. Soon it will still be dark. My warm lights will have to be on and I will wear more layers to stay warm. But, there are less layers insulating my heart because I write.