Then Go On the Offensive
Today I am grateful for my sense of smell and the pleasant scents of crisp morning air and steaming fresh coffee.
I ended yesterday's post with these words: "Retreat first. Retreat inward to find my writer's heart and soul, a little lost in these last years. Retreat first. To tap back into the reasons I write at all. Retreat first. Then, write on."
Write on. Go on the offensive. Take more forays into the world of revising previous work. Continue the ongoing campaign to reach publishing. Surrender ego and impatience, but not my goals.
Those goals can seem daunting at times. Improbable. Still... little steps bring me closer. If anyone knows the discipline of one day at a time, one stride at a time, one word at a time, it is me.
Some days it will roll. Some days it will be like a rock, stuck in place. And some days the flow will rock and roll and it will be amazing.
Goals take time. I have really been moving toward this one for most of my life, since I began writing when I was 10 or 11. Every word, every journal, every poem, every post. This has been my offensive attack. Plenty of small victories have racked up already. I am a writer. March on!
I ended yesterday's post with these words: "Retreat first. Retreat inward to find my writer's heart and soul, a little lost in these last years. Retreat first. To tap back into the reasons I write at all. Retreat first. Then, write on."
Write on. Go on the offensive. Take more forays into the world of revising previous work. Continue the ongoing campaign to reach publishing. Surrender ego and impatience, but not my goals.
Those goals can seem daunting at times. Improbable. Still... little steps bring me closer. If anyone knows the discipline of one day at a time, one stride at a time, one word at a time, it is me.
Some days it will roll. Some days it will be like a rock, stuck in place. And some days the flow will rock and roll and it will be amazing.
Goals take time. I have really been moving toward this one for most of my life, since I began writing when I was 10 or 11. Every word, every journal, every poem, every post. This has been my offensive attack. Plenty of small victories have racked up already. I am a writer. March on!
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