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My writing retreat starts tomorrow morning at 8:00 am as I drive north and westward. I’m only taking notebooks (the paper kind). Not sure why, but something is telling me I need to write long hand.
I’m tempted to bring notebooks and folders full of notes for a couple of books I am thinking about writing. I could also have brought my latest version of my children’s book. But I am bringing nothing but blank sheets.
Call me crazy. It feels crazy. I like to be prepared. Yet, this feels right.
I took the day off from work yesterday and read to my eight year old who was home sick from school and took a few naps when the boys napped. Even that felt related to preparing for the retreat–slowing down, letting go of all my work-related responsibilities, creating inner space.
I like the idea of fallow. I have a feeling that both slowing down and trusting that whatever I need will come to me (no notes needed) will allow this project to come with a certain ease.
Did I mention I have no idea what I’ll be writing about, though I know it’s a book? It’s just a sense that there’s something new, knocking around my unconscious, waiting for me to make the time for it to reveal itself. And that feels adventurous and liberating.