Not Writing

I know, weird title, but that's the truth...I'm not really writing right now.

The projects that I've been working on for the last year are completed (first drafts) and they need new eyes, now. Normally I'd start a new project, instead of waiting the six or so odd weeks for feedback, but this time, I decided not to.

I've written a lot this year and I think my mind needs a little break. Plus there's all that gardening, er movie watching, er classics reading I have to do. Right? Something like that.

I'm not the kind of person who loves down time, which is why I always have a project going. This is new territory for me. I expected to be a little panicked, and to feel guilty, like I was wasting time, etc. I set myself a list of other tasks to do-- build a website! Blog more! Finally figure out what is behind my refrigerator! What I didn't expect was how much I'd miss the page. How much I'd miss telling stories.

Something changed this year for me in my relationship with writing. I used to write because I had to put words down on a page-- I had to arrange the letters. Any letters. I just wanted to see the words. I write, now, because I have to tell stories. They stalk my brain, these stories! They want out!

Last night while watching The Godfather (another number on my List Of Things To Do While Not Writing), I pulled up a word document and started playing around. Just tinkering. Not writing. But the words started to come and before I knew it, I was off. Just like that.

I often complain about writing. I complain that it's difficult and that it comes slowly and that it takes forever. I complain I have to do it. But last night, with just that page, I know I don't write because I have to. I write because I want to. Because I love it. Because even six weeks off from a book feels like forever.

It's funny, isn't it? How absence really does make the heart grow fonder?

Happy Monday!

XO,

R