UNWRITTEN
I'm gazing out the window with big ideas while I do the dishes. I'm driving home, listening to a podcast and am struck with insight. I'm talking with my children about how to work something out and I find myself threading inspiration. These lovely threads unravel before I make notes. Too pressed for time to stop washing dishes and write. Too loving to leave a cuddle huddle and take a note. I will not pull my car over to create a voice memo. This is not how a novel is written, or a short story, or a blog post. I've been working a lot. Long weeks, days rolling into one another. I'm the chef, the cleaner, the errand runner, the mom. My partner is juggernauting the mess our house is in after a flood. It's as though we both have two full time jobs. A fifty hour work week, good family life with school-age kids and a marriage to be present for is not a recipe for my creative writing to be able to flow consistently. Friendships, art projects, forest wal...
