May 2010. That’s when this journey officially started. That’s
the day I sat in my favorite reading chair with a spiral notebook and began to
scratch out the rough idea of a story. I’d had a dream with an interesting
scene and I needed to know what happened after waking. That was the beginning
of my story.
I wrote during the preciously few moments of quiet in a
house that’s full of life. I wrote before heading off to a job I was fortunate
to have at a time when it was crucially needed. I wrote on the front porch when
I needed to find solace in a busy routine that could steal my identity if I
lingered there too long without a break.
Interesting things started to happen when I forced myself to
step away and work on something I enjoyed. I remembered that I had always loved
writing and couldn’t figure out why I had walked away from it. Sure, I did a
little journaling, but that’s different from sitting down to see how a story
unfolds. I began to look forward to putting my words on a page to see how
everything would come together. I began to enjoy the world I was creating. I
began to feel balanced and active. It didn’t matter how many times I refilled a
cup, or fed the dogs, or wandered through a week of a job that I wasn’t crazy
about, or packed lunches, or a million other things that kept me busy. Knowing
I could sit down and write helped to keep other things in perspective.
I hope that you, fellow reader, have something in your life
that brings you a sense of satisfaction. What does that look like for you?
I wrote during the preciously few moments of quiet in a
house that’s full of life. I wrote before heading off to a job I was fortunate
to have at a time when it was crucially needed. I wrote on the front porch when
I needed to find solace in a busy routine that could steal my identity if I
lingered there too long without a break. 
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