Later today I'll be leaping into a project that has been simmering for a couple of years. I have a cast of characters, a setting, the first 2-3 chapters, and finally the sense of conflict that will drive the story.
Two days ago every project was shrieking my name, but after doing some barn chores yesterday the din settled and this story's voice won out. This is the first book I've started that didn't already have a title and an ending scene, and I've discovered that having something to write toward makes it easier to get going. I also know that once the pen is on the page, or the fingers are on the keys, things begin to happen. I just have to listen.
Meanwhile, the stories here: Keil Bay's neck lump has disappeared. The pony is moving well. Cody is feeling good. Salina is in fine spirits and the donkey boys are chipper and sweet. We have a couple more cloudy days but thus far very little rain, and the ground is a bit more solid beneath our feet. Not quite dried out, but getting there. The temperature spread is such that they won't need blanketing all week.
Corgis and kit-meows are all existing peacefully and keeping life interesting. As I was writing this post, the Mystical-Kit got up on top of the kitchen cupboards and made his way onto the top of the one above the refrigerator. There's an opening there, I guess for venting, and I heard a scrabbling of cat claws, agonizingly long, and then silence. I hadn't seen him up on the cupboards, and after he fell there was no sound. I guessed he might be back there, and heaved and pulled until the refrigerator was out of the cubby it fits into like a glove. There was Mystic. I was writing, and fortunately some part of me was listening.
I was thinking this weekend about the need to tell stories. We all seem to have that desire on some level. Jung said something about that:
The reason for evil in the world is that people are not able to tell their stories.
Interesting that I spend some of my time telling stories and another chunk of my time listening. Not just in my therapy office, but everywhere I go. People seem drawn to tell me their stories. Usually I think "I don't have time for this. I do this for my job, I don't want to do it in the grocery store too." But then I listen. Because they need to tell it, and I usually get intrigued in spite of myself.
It's important to listen.
This week, in a tribute to balance in the new year, I aim to do both.
Writing makes a map, and there is something about a journey that begs to have its passage marked.