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Writing Life

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Hopalong:
Just for a day, and a first snowfall is always more beautiful than bothersome, in my book. But ours was easy. Thick enough for gorgeous, not enough to create much danger. Maybe it even sent the bears to bed, but I'm sure some are skipping hibernation. Hope you aren't aching too much after the blitz shoveling.

I told a friend the other day, who asked how the writing was going (in the "have you been writing?" way) that I'd made a decision to never answer "progress questions." But you're not prodding, just supporting. Truly thank you, it's just where it needs to be! (A lot of it takes place in my head long before the page.)

xo
Hops

sKePTiKal:
How's the observation that writing is your purpose sit now, Hops? Still finding it a new realm to explore? Or are you just in the zone with it and not even thinking about it? LOL...

I'll bet this endeavor bears fruit in lots of unexpected ways for you.

Hopalong:
Nope, my epiphany that since mothering is gone, writing is my largest life purpose hasn't budged since the light shone. I am so grateful not to struggle with the question any more, and find that I am trusting the answer. It's not attached to production timetables or progress reports in any way. Just to the being bits.

It's been a recalibration of my being in some mysterious way. That said, I still work, have a living to earn, have life to live with its warts and health things and relationships. Still struggle with balancing.

But the realization greatly clarified and simplified the post-motherhood answer to the question, who am I? Why am I? Do I have something to live for larger than myself? Now, with the novel and what I'm experiencing with it (and early reactions from the workshops and reading) ... I think I do.

The nice thing about a well told story is that it outlives one. We read dead authors who are still alive on the page.

Not a dead example, but for fun I'm reading the latest novel by Le Carre, as sharp and alive as he ever was. He finished it at age 89.

love
Hops

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