I wasn't even going to get up to get this book and write. I was just going to stare at the wall and write in my head like I do sometimes, but I told myself I need to physically do it. Even when it's inconvenient. Even when I'm too lazy. Especially when I'm too lazy!
Because there's nothing like moving a pen across the page. No matter what the world is like around you, you still have the writing, the escape into ink and paper. You still have the satisfaction of your own words going into history.
THAT is the real stuff, the real act of writing. That is when true love for it pours out - when you don't care if another soul reads it, when your body actually sighs from having written. THAT's when you feel like a writer, when you recognize who you really are.
I dream about bookstores and beautiful books and befriending favorite authors. It's because I'm always thinking about writing. I really do forget who I am. I forget because money speaks louder, the jobs, the business plans, the urge to get ahead. I forget about what I'm here to do simply by becoming obsessed with what I'm here to do.
But when I get back to that passion space, writing becomes a meditation, the words spilling out and my brain goes into a deeper state and I'm not in control anymore. I just see my hand moving.
Writing is as beautiful as dancing. My two loves. My two healing balms. When I'm really doing it, I don't care who sees. I don't care if the pages fly away and dissolve into the clouds. It's the act, the process, the love of doing it.