I was just sitting there, having a little too much fun in my own head…

Maybe I would work on my novel. After what happened this weekend, the thrill heightened, like it grew wings and decided it might actually fly. 

I met a criminologist and author, Susan Magestro, at a book festival. My granddaughter actually spotted her first. Finding her felt timely in a way I didn’t expect. She works in criminology and writes psychological thrillers, the same world my protagonists live in; I caught myself thinking this might actually help me understand them better. I am so excited to read her novel. She was a charming soul, especially when she said, “When you finish your novel, I want to buy your very first book.” What an honor.

But not today. I do not have the time. I really should edit Part 6 of Lilly’s story. I read it today and thought, why was I in such a rush to post it? I even hesitated last night. Reading it again, I can tell something is off, I just cannot quite name it. Nope, I will keep moving forward and keep that in mind with Part 7.

I know what I can do.

Today is a great day to respond to a prompt. They always tickle my desire to be creative. I have not done one in a while. I hope it is a good one.

But I cannot do another silly conversational piece. No animals or different beliefs talking amongst themselves. I must not allow my food to chit-chat, not even my taste buds can chime in. Not that I am leaving that behind. I will return to it, but I need to work those writing muscles with variety. After all, how can I grow if I limit the kind of writing I do?

Even as I say this, wait, why can’t I play with unique characters? I know the answer. I can, but I also want to see what else I might enjoy.

So, as I pondered different ways to be creative, I felt a surge of joy building, a tangible, palpable excitement about writing.

Ain’t it something, reader… how wonderful it is to do that which ticks our tocks, the things that have our inner dwellings dancing because they appreciate when we return to the thrill of writing?

This is my happy place.

This place is where I notice myself from within. It is like a painter who feels they were meant to paint and finally picks up the brush. I value writing and the writer in me, so when my actions line up with that, there is a kind of cognitive congruence.

It feels a little like hiking to a beautiful stream. The slope can be steep, the effort real, but the reward is in the view. I get to see something from within that both soothes me and excites me.

Many of you are writers too. You get it but humor me. I want to see if I can find a way to express what all that movement inside feels like.

I can feel an itch for movement with words. The music is turned up inside and now I yearn to waltz with my imagination.

The restless spirit that sometimes haunts me is put away and replaced with anticipation.