I’ve done very little writing in the last few months – instead, this time has been about deepening, becoming quieter, more still.
Odds and bits of writing arose, some of them quite marvelous and with great potential, but nothing with any discipline, and nothing completed. When the tap is on, I write. When it turns off, I stop.
I don’t know if a more focused or productive time is coming (my intuition says yes), or if this is simply the tail end of being a writer.
I’m fine with either – which is its own vast curiosity. But there it is.
I’m not dismayed. I am curious. What will today bring?
Maureen
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