The only way I know to explain my need to write is like the need to make love. It's a burning, almost unbearable feeling that expands and grows as it leads up to that moment of Ah. When it's down, and it's right, it's so very right.
So, those days that my fingers don't touch a keyboard, or pen and notebook, I feel bereft. Like I have missed out on a most integral part of who I am.
Oh, and then there are the days the I don't get to touch a book. I have really busy days with homeschooling six children, making a home, the children's lessons hither and yon, my moments with words are stolen. This makes it even better, because it's clandestine. You know, like those moments when you first meet the love of you life. How it takes your breath away. Your heart pounds, you knees feel like they are made of gelatin, and sometimes it's almost painful! Okay, maybe reading isn't that good in and of itself, but I am a out of the closet bibliophile, aka book worm! AND I get to claim it's research, that way I don't feel guilty for that being the thing I do at the moment instead of, oh...say, the laundry!
So, as I sign off for now, I am taking my beautiful homeschooling children to the Nature Center, so that while they run around, I can indulge in my guilty pleasure...Writing and Reading!
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