On my stove
My diced potatoes are softening on the stove. I grabbed a pot I think is a stock pot, and in it I have combined the recipe ingredients I hope will turn into yummy-sounding loaded baked potato soup. Whatever I end up with will be what I serve my family tonight for supper.
On my laptop
There are storylines swirling in my head. Characters are starting to populate my thoughts and I realize in this very moment, I too am in the stage of softening. Fiction writing is a form of letting go for me. I have held my writing so tightly to my chest. Writing for me has been more about editing, revising, controlling, manipulating. The only stories I’ve allowed myself to tell are the real ones because my writing can be legitimized by something tangible. Made-up worlds are foreign to me and I realized today only by letting go will I have anything new to offer the world.
Quote of the day:
Why not go out on a limb, that’s where are the fruit is.