Each time I think I will stop writing, I feel an incredible
sadness. For if I stop, how will all these thoughts and ideas be released to
the world. Hence, I continue. Some days it is a bit of a struggle, some days so many words
float around in my brain, I feel like I can barely stop.
Notebooks and
journals abound, in trunks and cedar chests, in cupboards and on coffee tables;
not one of them tells me to stop. And if I don’t write, who will speak my words? Does anyone
else see the world as I do? I would not be Me if I did not write, or go to yoga, or walk in a marathon.
Thank goodness none of these great writers…stopped.
Herman Wouk, (The Caine Mutiny/Marjorie Morningstar)
has finished his latest at age 97. The Lawgiver
Alice Munro, now 86 (wrote Thanks for the Ride when
she was 22) Dear Life was produced at 81.
Alan Bradley (Speaking From Among The Bones), at 74 signed on to deliver 5 more books.
Like these ageless authors and their sometimes ageless
characters, perhaps writing will keep me young. For me, there is hardly
anything more fascinating than a blank page.
Your Bliss might come from something else; the touch of fabric, the feel of a paintbrush, or the quiet of a mountain top. Who would create the garment, paint the picture or climb the sought after peak, if not for you?
Your Bliss might come from something else; the touch of fabric, the feel of a paintbrush, or the quiet of a mountain top. Who would create the garment, paint the picture or climb the sought after peak, if not for you?
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