I'm in my children's bedroom writing this as they settle in their respective bunks. My four-year-old son wants to know how to spell the name of a friend he wants to write an invitation to. For a playdate. My daughter lies quiet, watching me when I look up to her top bunk, gazing off when I don't, lost in her thoughts, the wondrous and mysterious thoughts of a six-year-old girl.
Not so mysterious, mind you. She lost a tooth today. The tooth fairy can't be far from the brain.
Sometimes I come to my journal like this. Often. With nothing in particular or of note to share. Just to put down words. In the case of my journal it's about putting pen to paper. Oh hello, I'll sometimes write to my journal (self). Not much to say, I'll continue. But just like that, fountain pen to journal and I'm off and running. The content is often beside the point. It's so much just the physical act, a calming one I highly recommend.
So I thought I'd try that here. Just to be present with the words. Not to force them. Not to go political, or polemical. Not to try and sway or dissuade. Just to write.
For what purpose? I'm not sure. If ever I can sell my book I'm not convinced this would help sell more books. If I can't ever sell my book well .. maybe this is proof of why. Who knows?
Just wanted something light and easy, soft and breezy. Cause heck, don't we need a litle more of that just now?