I’m still on a self-imposed hiatus from writing. There are plenty of blogs and websites to keep me on the research and educational warpath, and the number of un-read books by popular and indie authors continue to tempt me. And of course, it’s summer. Summer is definitely not the time to be writing.
Definitely. Not.
But I still want to write. I have a new project and the plot, themes, and characters are making themselves known. A snippet here, some dialogue there. I jot notes when I wake up and while I’m reading other books. I mull over story arcs when I’m making dinner. Time lines and development slither into my thoughts before I close my eyes at night. It’s there more often than not, which tells me it is time to get back to work. Soon, I promise myself. Four chapters have been written and 3 pages of random notes are waiting to be deciphered, molded, and transformed into something more substantial. {Watch my Facebook page in August for details on how you can get a sneak-peek of my newest project!}
Is this an obsession or a passion? Depending on the day and the moment, it is one…then the other….both.
My son is all baseball, all the time. He never really cared for it during the previous years of t-ball and for some odd reason, this year it clicked. He wanted to play. He understood the rules. And now he knows every player on our favored Major League team. He pretend ‘pitches’ and ‘bats’ while roaming throughout the house. He asks question upon question about team standings, player stats, and scheduled games. He knows the pitching order (I never knew such a thing existed) and batting order. He has gone to 2 MLB games and will attend yet another before the season is over. Is he obsessed, I wonder, or just merely passionate about a subject he loves? I prefer to label his fervor as passion. Sure, he is overly engrossed. And at times I admittedly feel if I have to endure one more conversation about a topic I am less than schooled in I may just scream. Yet, it doesn’t really matter what I think. This sport is his joy, not mine. And truth be told, he is hurting no one, including himself, by letting it consume his thoughts. I’m a mother and I know this too shall pass, soon to be replaced with another passion (of which I’m quite sure will be football once that season begins).
We are not much different, my son and I. Nor are you and I. Everyone has something that occupies their thoughts. Fuels their dreams. Motivates them to act. Gives them purpose and direction. Fills them with dread at the very idea it might disappear. My son has baseball (for now at least :). Mine just so happens to be writing.
What is yours?
LaPalm Books 