This Book Will Not Write Itself

Although my book lives in my head and is very real to me, unless I put the words down, it will not write itself. The words flow out of my fingertips and I marvel at their appearance on the page. All the things I know and think can come out and be read by others. Then my book will be “in print”. I am putting it in print.

This morning, just now, before my breakfast, but not before the cat’s breakfast – I sat outside with her and felt her grief and lonliness – and was reminded of my book. She ate part of her breakfast and then got in my lap. I petted her and talked to her and when she began to knead my legs with her toenails out, I put her down to eat some more of her cat food. She ate a little more and then jumped into my lap again. I petted her some more. Finally the arthritis was bad enough that I needed to stand and come back in the house. It rained last night and that does nothing to ease the pain in my muscles and joints. I hope to move back to the beach next year, but see how scatter brained my head is? I can think about 2 or 3 things at the time, but until I harness the words and make one topic appear on the page . . . I have digressed.

I came here to say I have just written 792 words on Book #1. It was a scene with someone who at one time meant a great deal to me. It was a scene I had forgotten. I am writing this book as a memoir. Not sure if it will be published that way or if it will be “based on a true story”. (It won’t matter, if it’s never written.) So before breakfast, I’ve done some real writing.

Today the phone is ignored. The email is not read, and I will accomplish something, if it kills me. 792 words. That’s a good start.

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