Late again. I should see these things coming considering the season, but truthfully, I don’t. I could blame it on Christmas I guess; we got the tree up and I have pie shells and rolled sugar cookies in the freezer. But those were the things I did plan. It was the stuff I didn’t that tripped me up.
Isn’t that how writing is though? It’s the stuff that didn’t make the outline, the time you didn’t plan to write but just had an idea that wouldn’t let go that makes writing so interesting. You might have to do some rewriting to include the new idea or fix the outline, but the unplanned is too good not to fit in.
As I fit in the tree trimming, I spent some time thinking about writing. One of the ornaments that is special to me came from a writing friend. The ornament is a little mouse on an inkwell. It was confirmation of my writing identity at a time before I had anything published, before I really felt worthy of being a writer.
It’s funny that writing is considered so solitary because for me, it has been the connections, the support systems, the friends who knew me better than I did myself that make writing for me, so worthwhile. I don’t think I’m alone in that. I have friends who talk about only getting published because another friend pushed, friends who band together to promote each other’s books, friends who get together faithfully for critique. Maybe that’s the real story behind writing.