You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.
Before I start my day, I breathe. I gulp the last cold coffee sip and stare out the window. My elbows touch the palimpsest of papers, post-it’s and paraphernalia. This is it. Time to write.
Time to dive into the chaos and create something long-lasting.
Time to try.
Time to work all the energy into a star, into a ball of flame that doesn’t wither and die when you turn on the lights.
Time to reflect.
Are all my maps and world curiosities going to carry me forward?
Am I going to see the sun today? Create something that no one has seen before?
I want to write something that means something to someone.
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction,” said Virginia Woolf.
I’m working on the money part.