I want to write something meaningful and profound and lasting.
But I don't know where to begin.
I have written something every day for 40 freaking days. I didn't write nearly as often or as much when I was a full-time newspaper reporter.
I am exhausted. Emotionally. Physically.
And I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Cuz writers write, and damn it all, I AM a writer.
I am not a waybill processor. I am not a grocery store clerk. Yes, I process waybills and I schlep groceries to pay my bills and put my son through college. But my passion, my life's blood, is writing.
Even when we may have questioned if, in the long run, what we wrote on a particular day mattered, we kept writing.
Even when we had day jobs to tend to, children to raise, housework to do, or other life obstacles to overcome, we kept writing.
Because that is what writers do. And yes, it all matters.
Because of the spirit, says author Anne Lamott. Because of the heart.
"...Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation," she explains in her book, Bird By Bird: Some Instructions On Writing and Life. "They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again.”
Thanks to all who have written, read and helped one another clap along with the absurdity of life during our second 40 Days of Writing challenge!
Victory! Our souls are nourished once more!