I am a writer. It feels funny typing that as I haven’t written consistently in a long time. Now that is changing. My latest insight is courtesy of Julia Cameron. I am slowly unblocking my seemingly eternal writer’s block with The Artist’s Way. I am rediscovering the joy of writing. As I recall the bliss writing brought me as a child, a teen and even an adult, I realise, writing is my safety blanket. Without it there to settle me I may not go to sleep. When I haven’t been writing I’ve felt like something is missing. I’ve turned to things like partying or watching tv to numb that niggle.
My memories of writing are paired with those of reading. As a child I’d spend an entire Summer with my nose in a book, not even putting it down if I had to walk between rooms. I became a part of the stories I read, and their gift to me was to become a storyteller. A gift I didn’t always value, like the Barbie I was given when I was in high school, it was thrown aside, I’m too old. From time to time I’d dust it off again and then that little voice in my head would laugh at me, you’ll fail. Back on the pile my stories would go.
I am a notorious book starter. Over the last few years my attention span has been like that of a puppy and I have rarely finished books. At the start of the year I set myself a reading challenge, that act itself has changed my reading habits. I’ve finished 8 and I’m not slowing down. I still jump from book to book, but now I actually wade from cover to cover with some of them. Baby steps.
I’ve always loved reading, as I’ve grown older I’ve turned to non fiction for sanctuary. I love collecting books and I am addicted to buying them. I like new books, but j‘adore old books. Their stories are not solely printed on the pages, they are imprinted on their weathered covers. If you’re lucky tucked inside their might be a bonus to let your imagination soar. A few years ago I bought a secondhand copy of the Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, it had a profound effect on me far beyond just the words on the page. Tucked inside it was a business card. It belonged to Richard R. Moore. He died 15 years ago, and although I know virtually nothing about him (I will keep wishing), every year on September 11 he enters my heart.
The magic of storytelling lives forever in me.
You can buy the Seven Spiritual Laws of Success here.
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