Word After Word

Yesterday, I decided not to work on the book—on purpose, with grace and fearlessless. I took a day off in order to play, do reiki on my face, plan a trip, make an elaborate Silver Palate dinner with my friend, plant a garden, brush the dog (I have a whole second corgi, a hair corgi, ghosting around my back yard, silently barking), read The Reivers out loud with the friend in moonlight with just a little light. It was a perfect Saturday evening in May in

Today I am finding it’s not hard to start working again because I wasn’t hiding from the book—I took a day off. I woke up thinking in the book. I am finding it’s okay to take one day of ten for intentional not working. But not more than that. Not one out of seven. I don’t know about you. For me, it’s exactly like any other kind of love, relationship.

Yesterday, even though away, I was kind to the work and to the author. It’s like my yoga teacher says, “Now look down, smile at your feet. Hello feet. Be nice to your feet. Don’t criticize your feet. They can hear you.” I’m thinking it’s good to be kinder to the demons of doubt and fear and distraction.

Today, after missing a day of it, by bloggin, I am easing back into my working. Blogging is my centering cigarette. And the Chicken Marbella is helping. My dear friend