The busy season is upon me.
For me, the season of thousands of renewal letters at work. For the kids, the season of tests and research projects at school. Citations are oh so important these days, I guess, putting the name and page number of your source after the sentence, whether it's a direct quote or just a summary of a point. Back in my day, you simply did a bibliography. At least that's what I remember. Anyway, the kids are gathering information, struggling a bit to get the outlines written, and after that there will be rough drafts, and so on and so forth. The 6th grader is writing about Oskar Schindler, the 9th grader is writing about tanks in WW1. Exciting stuff, huh?
I have some health issues I'm trying to resolve which is frustrating me (nothing serious, just those two horrid words - hormone imbalance) while my 11 YO decided to pull a muscle and come down with a nasty cold all in the same week. He's staying home again today, with his daddy, who will no doubt find some fun ways to entertain him.
And yet, through it all, I write. I write because I love it and perhaps because it is a necessary escape from all the demands of life. It's not much during the week, some words in the morning first thing, and again at night before bed. But I plug along, each time, happy to return to my characters and the story.
I've always believed it's good to have things to look forward to, so those times when life is dark, you have a light shining brightly, waiting for you on the other side.
For me, right now, one light is Disney World, and the other light are simply the words - The End. I love the process of writing, of course, but isn't it just oh so satisfying to get to the end? To do that which at times seems almost impossible?
One day at a time. One word at a time. That's how I get through.
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