I’ve learned that where I write has just as much to do with whether I write than anything else. Where as in sitting in front of my Mac instead of outside on my tree shaded patio complete with morning cup of coffee, a pen with the just right feel, and my turquoise Moleskin (which is full of thinking about my novel and various explanations of why I’m not writing it). But that isn’t the kind of writing I’m talking about. It’s more what I’m doing right now. The sitting in front of my Mac kind of writing.
Tomorrow my oldest will be 34 years old. My first boy. The one I remember thinking wasn’t real when I found out I was pregnant. I was unmarried, and not quite 22.
February is nearly half gone and I’m just now feeling as if there’s a new year ahead of me and things to plan for. The holidays have long passed, the remnants of that nasty bout with bronchitis are finally gone, the Super Bowl — which always seems to allow some sort of hanging on to a reason to plan a party — is history, and finally, a lovely several days spent with an old friend who came to stay have also been crossed off my calendar. Time flies.
Twenty-twelve was a blue ribbon year for me and for many of the people I care about. Milestone birthdays and graduations abounded. There were planned trips to familiar places, and an unexpected vacation to somewhere new. Day trips were enjoyed out and about the city we’ve called home since 1968 and tend to take for granted. A mix and match of family got together for myriad reasons. There were babies, continued good news about a friend’s fight with cancer, new homes warmed for the next phase in lives, and deaths mourned.
NaNoWriMo is officially over and what have I done with my crappy draft of a half-done manuscript since November 30th?
I was going to write about all of the heavy thoughts I’ve been mulling over since the election this past Tuesday and about how at a time like this I would normally feel like jumping up and down, waving flags and celebrating with sheer joy at the outcome, but I have not done that. Outside of shedding a few tears of complete relief, I have worried more about those whose votes did not gain them what I have heard described as “their” president in office come next January and not “mine.”
Day 3 of NaNoWriMo is waning but my energy to keep writing hasn’t and that feeling has been present each day so far — sort of. And I’m ahead of myself, so allow me an explanation: I think this will be an important place to think about what I’m learning about myself and writing throughout this process and not so much a place to catch anyone up on exactly what I’m writing.