The other day I came home to discover a box sitting on my computer. A piece of paper lay on top, a note scrawled in my older son’s horrific handwriting.
What can I say. The boy gets me.
That writing group I started?
It was THE BEST THING I COULD HAVE DONE.
(Actually, I’m in two groups. There’s the main writing group that meets monthly, and then another smaller, side one—photographed above—a writing group spawn, of sorts, that meets weekly, just for the summer, and is more of a support team for this seminary-theater intern.)
The groups’ variety in writing style, content, and genre is tremendously invigorating, and the people are awesome: supportive, interesting, creative, funny, and smart. After each meeting, I am filled to the brim with creative juices and pumped to write. Success!
The problem with having your writing desk next to your bed: the temptation to sleep instead of write occasionally wins out.
This same time, years previous: reflections from Kansas City, grilled flatbread, red raspberry lemon bars, simple creamy potato salad and French potato salad, and baked oatmeal.