Today is a day to move forward. My anticipation isn’t as great as I’d hope it would be at this moment. As I sit on my plush sofa with my beagle snoring on the opposite side, I take a deep breath and ready myself for what lies ahead.
I pulled out my blue notebook the other day. The edges are worn and some of the pages are torn from the binding. At first glance, it looks like a student’s day-planner filled with scribbling and old post-it notes stashed in between notations and numbers. For me, it’s the pulse of my story.
“So Marti, what is the very first step to writing a novel?” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked this question….but what an honor to be asked!
This happens to me when I write in public….
The first time I read these words, they had been posted by someone I had little regard for. As it turned out, a rivulet of respect bubbled into my well of respect for this person. Her intent was sincere…and I sincerely needed to see it.
It became my mantra.
Only recently have I realized the correlation between the breath and my need to write. Both are events which occur without much thought until the desperate moment when my soul become starved from lack of it.