Many writers have rituals. I’m trying to get back into the rhythm of daily writing after a hiatus. My intent is to be a bit more disciplined them I was in my past. Although, my undisciplined style was often productive.

Warming up is important for me. Usually this involves a bit of inspirational reading, a time of soul searching, and listening to God.

I found something else that helps me set the mood. Any Garrison Keillor fans out there? Check out: http://www.writersalmanac.org/ I find it informative and inspirational, plus it is only five minutes. A worthwhile five minutes.

His

I walked the floor. I wrung my hands.
I prayed. I surrendered. I claimed promises.
I wept.
I let him go. I took him back.
I carried his burdens. I laid them down.
And once again, I wept.
Finally in desperation and despair.
I drug him to his Father.
I left him there.

The Passion

One year plus ten months is nearly two years. That's how long it's been since he died.

I always thought if I had lots of time, I'd write and write and write. When I had a family at home I longed for an upper room. A quiet place. A sanctuary. A writer's haven.

 

When my husband of forty-seven years died the all-knowing everybody said: the first year is the hardest. I had often said, in hard copy, that there was no dark place I could go to where I couldn't write my way back. But it seems I went there. Convinced writing is a gift from God, I often said, again in hard copy, that God never takes a gift back.

 

But I couldn't write. Oh, I could put some words together. I could come up with a story idea. I could start, but I couldn't finish. Often I couldn't even continue. I busied myself with the getting on with my life stuff. The legal work, the cleaning out, the getting rid of filled that elusive first year. But I still couldn't write. I just plain couldn't.

 

The sorry truth is it's the rest of your life that's the hardest. It's the moving on. Living alone. Plugging away.

 

This morning, for no reason whatsoever,  the passion for writing, the great driving force of my being, returned. I can write. And I shall.  

 

 http://www.authorsden.com/joycemcdonaldhoskins