When I can’t write, then I’m either sick or something is wrong. I write from the time I get up until I can’t keep my eyes open at night. I may never write the Great American Novel, but I have been an obsessive writer since I was eleven years old.
I keep a daily journal, work on several blogs and I have many freelance jobs at the present. Everything makes me feel like writing. It may not be what I should be writing, but I’m always putting words on paper or keyboard.
Right now, there is a group of kids on the swing set (Old Fort Harrod Park) and they are inspiring a poem. Even though I may only jot down single words, they will end up as a poem or story before the night is over.
Rainy days inspire me more than sunny days, because I love the smell and feel of rain in the air. My wildflowers inspire me because they are God’s gift – pampered, hybrid flowers just don’t mean the same to me.
The past two months, my words and writings have been about my youngest daughter, Christine and her plans for college at Berea. Over the past month, since the illness and death of my Momma, I have filled two and a half notebooks with words, thoughts and prayers. I’m not ready to turn them into anything yet, but the words are there when I’m finally ready.
The past few days have been the best because they have been filled with words and thoughts about my first grandchild, Devon Mikayla. Of course, she is not my official first grandchild because I have a step-grandchild, Delilah Rose, who is the sweetest little two year old you would ever want. But there will always be a special place in my heart for my little Tadpole.
Words come easy for me, if not, something is wrong.
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