Friday, February 3, 2012

A Glass of Water

It's the wee hours of the night. 
I drank a glass of water before I went to sleep so that I would be sure to wake and cleave out some 'me' time for writing. 
It doesn't really happen during the day. 
Sure, sure, I know
I make time for Pinterest and facebook Scrabble (o yeah, and Words with Friends) but those are just moments throughout the day, often with a kid on one hip, or one breast, not the sustained head time I need to get into the head space of writing. 
It's dark, I'm sitting in bed with the deep sleep breathing sounds of the kids surrounding me. (No kidlets, this is my space, special to mummy, scram! Yes, of course I still love you! Mwah!) 
This new blog is to be where I write about my writing - the things inspiring me, the things I need to work through. I'm hoping it helps keep the spark alive. Helps me become more focused. 
I've had a bit of a hiatus from my writing. 
When I think that the year when I was most dedicated and best at keeping to my ordained schedule (carefully scribbled into my diary as to how many words I expected myself to write each day, then each month, and then ticked off) was 1995... and I was still in high school. That the last year I really settled down to it and wrote was ... let me think, count back on my fingers...2003.
My year by sea. Just writing.
Ahem. Gulp. 
I want to start doing that again. It's a little trickier now. 
But you know what the thing is? 
Writers write
That's what distinguishes us from non-writers. 
We write. We sit down with a pen, or in front of our computer and words (worlds) come out. 
I read recently that Nora Roberts said "I can fix a bad page, I can't fix a blank page." 
I need those pages (good or bad) to come flowing again. 
Editing all my many (good) or bad pages from the past counts! 

*Just before I woke I dreamt that I had fallen down the side of a train and was hanging to a door knob or window or something (no, I don't know how I managed that!) - I think it was an old black steam train - as it shunted through a tunnel from one platform to another. Everyone had seen me and was yelling at the driver to stop - but as of when I woke, he hadn't and was tooting along, all oblivious, with a jaunty little train driver cap on. He might have been whistling Both the kids were clinging to me. 
Do you think it means anything? 
Or is it just that I'm really really over Thomas the Tank Engine
(Some of those stories are so annoying! have you seen Polly and the Pingy Pongy Washing? Don't. I had to watch it 3 times this week.) 

I will leave you to go do some editing. Sara and the Seven Beasts tonight - tense changes here I come! 

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