Oh, what joy it brings me to be able to come back to the writing desk, open the manuscript, and start typing, picking up from where I left four long days ago!
I love D, I love him being at home and all the silly things he does and all the love and joy that conscious parenting brings.
But I also love writing and telling stories. Not doing that for a long stretch of time makes me mad.
What also makes me mad is if I go even one day without connecting and playing and fooling around with D.
How lucky I am to have both writing and parenting in my daily life!
I'm in the midst of reading a very interesting non-fiction book titled And Then We Grew Up by Rachel Friedman, and I can't wait to get back to it.
So I'll keep this post short and come back tomorrow to write more fiction and perhaps also some thoughts on this utterly marvellous book which calls BS on some very misguided conceptions of the roles that grit and perseverance and talent and luck play en route to success, especially in the artistic fields.