A writer's life is reclusive. I would always openly admit that I am a hermit. No shame. I do not go out much, don't listen to radio much anymore, the news upsets me, and I hate to watch too much television (it's a distraction and time waster). My favorites are my favorites, and they have my heart. And this goes for everything and everyone from my family, friends, church, family of organizations, my choice of music (Maxwell/Luther), my supermarket, my printer (Shout-out to Federico!), and my dry cleaner (Girlfriend knows I always lose my tickets).
Lately, I have lost a few family members and friends, have suffered through some of the challenges my close friends have faced, have found myself grateful for the many, many blessings but also praying that "norm" remains intact, that everyone I love remains healthy, happy, and safe. And I realize this....
Life is a blessing, one to be experienced. And just because my powerful imagination permits me to close my eyes, see Niagra Falls, inhale the overpowering fragrance of salt and sediments in the air, and feel the mist spray my dag-on-face, that does not mean that I shouldn't get up off my tushie and see it for myself.
Right after I completed my second draft of Love Changes, my mentor, Valerie, gave me this advice, "Be sure to make time to NOT write."
I was smiling and agreeing but inside, I was like, "Huh? Say what? Come again!"
This was the exact opposite of everything I had been taught up until this point. You know, the rise-early, write-every-day, fuel-your-muse, don't-give-up. So when I had a goal, I had tunnel vision. But now, I do finally understand. Googling images is not experiencing the world.