This has been one of the most difficult years of my life. It’s had tremendous rewards, but it’s also been a huge drain on finances, health and sanity. I’m steadily reincorporating the stuff I need (exercise, quiet time, civic engagement) back into my life after having a 6-month crash course in psuedo-parenting.
My writing habit lies crumpled in the corner. I need to find my way back to the place where I’m writing for craft, not writing to clean a wound.
There’s a creative non-fiction class beginning January 8th. It’s called Shut Up and Write! Classroom hours miraculously fit into our frenzied schedule, and I’m hoping to be able to make it happen.
Lately, I’ve realized that stuff means far less to me than experience. A writing seminar would rattle my cage and ruffle this bird’s feathers. If you were considering sending me a Holiday card, or any sort of Yuletide gesture, please consider placing a drop in my bucket instead. Folks who donate have the option of giving me a (non-fiction) writing prompt, which I will fulfill, even if I hate it.
How many times do you get to tell a hothead like me to shut up (and write!)?