To say there has been a lot going on as of late seems like an understatement of gigantic proportions. There has, of course, been the tragedy in Connecticut, an event with such horrific magnitude that I can barely stand to contemplate it, much less do so and then send my kids to school without kissing them a thousand times before they disappear through the doors. In addition, on a different level, there are the holidays with their hustle and bustle, and dare I say it? Chaos.
Yes, holidays are wonderful, but they are also crazy and chaotic. Everything from the plethora of cooking to juggling family, friends, and the to-do list can threaten at any moment to unhinge even the most Stepford perfect of people. In the midst of all of this I promised myself I would not get frustrated if my writing was put on the back burner. After all, I didn't want to just frustrate myself prying precious stolen moments of time to squeeze a few sentences onto paper. Ironic, I know since I wrote a post about seizing the moment, but somehow in the craziness of the holidays the idea didn't appeal to me.
What I didn't know would happen, however, was that without exercising my writing, it would grow not only unsettled, but unwilling. I found when I did have time to write that I was hesitant, a bit like my kids and their homework, finding any reason to do something else. It was not until this morning that I decided to check out some other writer's blogs, coupled with a new like on my Facebook page for my second book, that inspiration struck. The one tiny ember that was still burning was fanned and burst into glorious flame and I can't wait to get back to work. Now that, to me, is a wonderful gift I was given.