Golden drops of promise swirl about my feet crunching my steps refusing to hide me.
I do rather like autumn. The Indian Summer week for sure! It's been in the 70s and almost 80 the last week or so.
Good for walking. Good for thinking. Good for living. Not good for writing.
Who wants to sit inside with the blinking lights begging for morsels of adjectives when the last eeks of summer are taunting?
Not this girl.
So I haven't written much and I haven't read much and I haven't taken the miasma of thoughts and given them form. They are there, though, I promise. Waiting and wondering when they will be seen.
I had thought the second book would be ready for print by November 1st. It may still. It needs a good Saturday rain to get finished, polished, perfected. The cover isn't right. It wants more... I don't know.... splashes or flashes or something like that. Some of the words are awkward. They don't sit right on the page. They need more balance, more agility, more time.
Remember last year about this time? I struggled with crossing the writer's bridge. The one that links the private thoughts to the public domain. That bridge. Most of you didn't know I stood at the brink of retraction. I almost didn't put it out there.... but then, all of sudden, with a life of its own... the book was done.
The words sat tight. The pictures reflected deeply. The cover hummed.
I'm not afraid of the bridge this year. The audience response from the first book gives me courage. I don't know why God uses my words, but I'm sure He does. He links my life's struggles and joys to others. They are hither and yon, these readers who read me. My words pull them over their own bridges. My experiences give them peace despite conflict.
I know the book is almost ready. Just not quite. Like the last bit of leaves that sit snugly on the maple refusing to fall, the final touches are holding out for just the right wind to give them flight.
And all the while.... golden drops of promise swirl about my feet crunching my steps refusing to hide me.
I do rather like autumn. The Indian Summer week for sure! It's been in the 70s and almost 80 the last week or so.
Good for walking. Good for thinking. Good for living. Not good for writing.
Who wants to sit inside with the blinking lights begging for morsels of adjectives when the last eeks of summer are taunting?
Not this girl.
So I haven't written much and I haven't read much and I haven't taken the miasma of thoughts and given them form. They are there, though, I promise. Waiting and wondering when they will be seen.
I had thought the second book would be ready for print by November 1st. It may still. It needs a good Saturday rain to get finished, polished, perfected. The cover isn't right. It wants more... I don't know.... splashes or flashes or something like that. Some of the words are awkward. They don't sit right on the page. They need more balance, more agility, more time.
Remember last year about this time? I struggled with crossing the writer's bridge. The one that links the private thoughts to the public domain. That bridge. Most of you didn't know I stood at the brink of retraction. I almost didn't put it out there.... but then, all of sudden, with a life of its own... the book was done.
The words sat tight. The pictures reflected deeply. The cover hummed.
I'm not afraid of the bridge this year. The audience response from the first book gives me courage. I don't know why God uses my words, but I'm sure He does. He links my life's struggles and joys to others. They are hither and yon, these readers who read me. My words pull them over their own bridges. My experiences give them peace despite conflict.
I know the book is almost ready. Just not quite. Like the last bit of leaves that sit snugly on the maple refusing to fall, the final touches are holding out for just the right wind to give them flight.
And all the while.... golden drops of promise swirl about my feet crunching my steps refusing to hide me.
