Daily fifteen — ha! How many days did I make it? Um, lemme count. One, two, three… What you don’t know is that I did squeeze in my daily fifteen a few days in a row doing writing other than on this blog.
Very sneaky of me.
This past week was something of a milestone. I sent my first ever query to a magazine, applied to a part-time website writing gig, and networked–you heard right–networked with some other communications, writer-type folks to see what else is out there. Did you hear me? I NETWORKED. Holy cow. I must be seriously bent on this writing thing.
Beyond that, I did a lot of observing this week. Mostly about how my body feels ON and OFF writing. When I’m writing about something that really gets me going–or even just thinking about writing about it–I get in this giddy fugue state where I just want to sit there forever and keep going until the wondrous ending to whatever it is that’s getting me so riled up. I can survive on ideas and air. My butt becomes rooted in the chair.
When I’m off writing, either not writing at all or not writing stuff that interests me, I feel kind of lost and slightly confused. What am I supposed to be doing here again?
Then today, I was walking outside back to my office from an appointment, huffing up a long flight of wooden stairs alongside the roar of the gorge and its angry, rushing water. The sun was out, but the temperature hovered around freezing. I stopped to check out the rapids and the waterfall. Then I caught the faintest wiff of an earthy, musty smell in my frozen nostrils. I scanned the wet, brown matted leaves; the rocks; the piles of crusted snow. I looked again.
Then I saw it. A single slim, green finger-like shoot pushing up against the forest floor–essentially flicking off the lingering snow and ice and gray clouds. I sniffed again. God, I love that smell.
I rushed up the stairs, crunching five months of salt underfoot as I went. This week was full of giddy, wondrous fugue-state inducing moments. It was a new beginning. Again. And it was a reminder that just because the world, your world, has been one way for what seems like an intractable amount of time–as nature shows us over and over, it too can change.
I can smell it.