I freewrote for 30 minutes this morning, that is, I wrote without thinking. “And that is so unusual” speaks my internal critic. It is this robust internal critic that I am trying to quell. She suspects this may be a waste of 30 minutes but I recall that the past few days she has been busily preoccupied with being depressed, which is not exactly a stellar activity either.
I choose to develop what may become a talent instead of hiding it in the ground. I started reading the book, "Writing Fiction” by Janet Burroway this morning. Freewriting clears the writer’s pathway from thought to paper (or to keyboard). The exercise is best done daily at the beginning of the day before any other mental activities get in the way.
I also read the section on the active voice. My last Toastmaster’s speech introduced the concept to me but it feels unnatural to me. Convinced, I carry on.
I experienced a funny dream this morning. My husband handed me my baby girl. Phew, the smell clearly told me that she was in need of a diaper change. I held her up and realized that she could almost stand on her own. Then, my cat literally pounced upon me, jumping on the bed and waking me. The smell was evidently not a dream. Kitty! I looked around for the mess but found none. She hid sheepishly under the bed. I tried to ignore the fetor and fortunately, it disappeared. I conclude she, or someone, had a bout of gas.
I reread a book called A Separate Peace by John Knowles. I read it the first time when I was 16 years old and absolutely loved it. One moment in particular captivated me that first time. The memory of being spell bound drew me to revisit. I waited and anticipated that climatic moment but it never reoccurred! Disappointment reigned instead. I saved that book in my library to one day experience the awe of being 16 again and nothing. A lot of books under the bridge since then, I guess. I recommend it though, especially for 16 year olds.