I thought that I had posted my entry for today, but when I made an edit, I think I deleted it instead of submitting it, so here goes.

This morning I've revisited a writing excercise that I did in May in my journal. I'm feeling a little blank this morning and maybe it will get me going on an idea down the line. This came about from a writing excercise in Natalie Goldberg's Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life.

I often think, ponder in the shower, in my quietest times…

How would I begin? What would I say? Who would listen?

There are so many beginnings, so many twists and turns, points that converge.

Does it begin when my mother departed this world?

Is it a history that I wish to share with my unborn child?

Is it the piece of me that I want to immortalize, to capture in an element that will stay when I am gone?

Or does it start in my grandmother’s kitchen, or my brother’s world?

Does it begin at her funeral or at the ice-skating rink or the doctor’s offices?

Does it begin with my ballet recital--orange mess that is was.

Does it begin forward and go backward or the other way around?

It will have to begin somewhere and everywhere and the lines can meet at some point. For my purposes, it can keep beginning wherever my mind wants to begin and I can come back to several beginnings over and over, until I can remember all the pathways that have brought to me to today.

Rebbecca Hill