I’ve been writing this month’s project by hand. Last month was a terrible month for writing, what with the Mister being gone and running the Good Ship Casa Trimble on my own. This month was not much better. But, I thought I’d write longhand and tap into that wild creative spark you get from the physical act of writing.
Good Lord. My hand and writing callus ache. But the story feels like it is flowing through my arm. I don’t even feel like I am writing it. I feel like the vessel, letting the story trickle down and through my arm, the pain in my fingers just birthing pains.
I feel lost in my story, like I am drowning in it, clinging to a Cheerio in a huge bowl of milk. It is grabbing me and owning me and I am struggling to get it all down as quickly as it would like to come. I am exhausted, but can’t wait for more. Too excited to sleep, but knowing the morning will bring refreshment and the story fairies will whisper in my ears as I dream.
So sleep well, my story. Sleep well, maiden. And sleep well my tired, ink smudged, callused hand.