My novel is still mostly dormant, but pushing hard to claim existence. Closeting oneself, albeit in pleasant surroundings, is hard. After 40+ hours plugged into an office, I want Saturdays to be unplugged: lounging with people I love, talking, reading aloud, eating, walking, watching movies.
What am I learning about this process? No writing will happen until after I do Morning Pages. Journaling for 30” minimum is the rite for re-engaging with my Self, to cross the threshold from deliberately self-suppressing activity all week to jumping up and down, laughing, flinging my arms and butt and saying “Here I am!” on the written page, of course. Giving of oneself with any authenticity and sincerity requires having a self that produces the gift. The lilac vigil continues.
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