Last night around midnight I tossed and turned, puddling up in my sheets because it is still too wretchedly hot and humid. Finally, I got up and for some odd reason I felt like getting one of my favorite writing books off the shelf, Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within, by Natalie Goldberg. I did not attempt to read it, but I put it aside to pick up and peruse this morning.
In ruffling through its pages this morning, I was inspired to post about the wonders of this little book. Then I faintly recollected maybe having done that already. In searching my archives, I discovered that I had written about this book way back in February of 2013. I was astonished to read what I wrote: how this book was propelling me write in my journal 10 to 20 minutes a day–every day.
I must admit that the discipline of writing so much every day had escaped me years ago. The sad truth is that I am a writer who has not been writing. It is no wonder then that my thoughts and ideas have become a jumble. Writing helps me sort things out — even if none of it ever meets the eyes of any reader.
So, this morning I got out a composition book, my favorite black felt-tipped pen, set the timer on my phone to 5 minutes and answered the basic question “How do I feel today?” My answer is not repeatable on a family-friendly blog. I think that I am not writing because I got a lot of muck backed up inside of me that needs to be cleared away. Journaling clears the sludge like running a rotor through a blocked sewage line.
The point I am trying to make here is this: I wrote today for five whole minutes and a bit of the toxic backwater moved a bit. That’s huge.
If you would like to read the post from 2016, it is here: