Somewhere along the way, the habit of a bloody mary, loud music and an altitude of thirty thousand feet or so is all i needed to write. New thoughts, or free writes, grabbed hold of muscle turning pen to paper into prose, I was told worthy. I didn’t think that I would ever lose that sense of purpose of expression, but in recent years I feel void of inspiration or of having anything to say. Now, though, with the children having experienced their first real loss, I find myself needing to do as I say, and work diligently to be a role model for them at least in creating. (We should hope they don’t get my wicked tongue of temper.)
There isn’t a rhyme or reason to how to begin, and perhaps it will not always be funny or insightful, and I’m totally not into having people comment troll-like on what we put out there. Pause, it will give us, to remind what goes out, stays out.
This all started as letters. To people, of whom I so deeply cared about, were the recipients of my thoughts, my inhibitions and my hopes despite having to overcome me standing in my way. If I try to start now, in this minute, my computer loses battery, and I have an unfinished thought. Hitting publish is the only way this begins…
~ s. wasana
I think this is a good place to begin. A loss does stimulate emotions and deep thought. Our children are much more resilient than we know and often surprise us. It would be interesting to hear their thoughts. I have always found your writing to be thought provoking, inspiring, and motivational. My favorites are when you write while flying……