Nice day today. It’s getting a little cooler around here. Still hot, but not scorching. Looked out at the trees from the windows in my bedroom.
Then I worked on a story.
I've taken a long time off. Family issues.
It feels strange to be writing again. Some things still come natural and other things are shaky. Like I’m in the process of getting my brain together into pages where once I didn’t have to think about it.
It will be flowy for awhile and then it’s not as flowy as it used to be.
I’m not worried because I know I’ll fix it in the mix.
By the time I’m finished no one will be able to tell the stops and starts of my work.
It will just be a story.
Unless of course I throw it out before I’m done. And go back to looking out my bedroom window. And forget about being a writer for a bit.
I don't think I will, but it's always a possibility.
I’m just not worried about it though. That gives me a freedom.
I do like words.
