Tiny little things, mostly black ink on white paper – or tiny, connected dots on screens. For years, I’ve been playing with them, from a safe distance. Reading, but not writing. Granting them passage through my head while I held the paper (or e-book reader) that held them captive, but never remembering for long.
Every once in a while, a little voice from the back of my head speaks up and asks when I’m going to set it free of the cage I spend years building. The answer remains the same – I don’t know. But at least I started missing those tiny friends, those words. And while I have absolutely no clue when I’ll be back with notepad and pen, I know I’ll have to go back.
So, come November, I’m going to join the insanity that’s Nanowrimo once again. I failed the past five or six attempts, so there’s nothing new to fear – I’m still in denial. But maybe… maybe it’s time to slow down.