We’re home for a few weeks, and I intend to settle comfortably into a rut lined with words. Reading and writing, the necessary things that call for attention as winter gives one final roar before melting into spring.
I pull out my manuscript and reorient myself in the work. I pull out the copyedited manuscript of Two Hearts and remind myself of those things I have a propensity do with words that don’t serve the story well. The voice in this new book is different, but there are still things to consider as I wrangle words in this third draft.
Books, resting in the floor beside my wing chair, pull at me when I walk by. There are a few to finish, more to start, and Amazon keeps sending more. Pens and highlighters are at the ready.
My Moleskin notebook is comfortable, worn, and welcoming. This one, about half full of my scribbles with plenty more pages left for rumination. It’s a sanctuary of words and reflection. Some have been extracted to form a part of other work, others rest gently on the pages within.
Words. These, the ones I read daily in scripture, and those I offer up in whispered prayer, give form to my days. They are sufficient to fill a well that feels a little bit empty just now.