As I drove to work this morning, I knew I wasn’t finished with this piece.

And isn’t that just like a writer? I have a novel that has actually been dangling in the air of hopelessness for almost twenty years. Once, for a brief time, I pulled it out of a dark corner and breathed some life into it, let it dance for a happy and brief time, then I put it away until I find the right ending for these characters. Some things are seen clearly, while others are murky. You move onto the next project.

Writing in my cocoon, I am warm. I am happy and creative. And as one author said this past weekend, ‘I have the greatest story ever written’ before me. (Insert giggles and snickers here)

When cracking open my cocoon, I break free of my hardened shell to protect me from criticism and the general harshness of the world. I find others like myself going through the trips and falls, the hills and valleys as they too, travel the journey of writing a novel with conscious deliberate thought. They know, understand the ache of the search for just the right word; how best to convey this thought, etc.

It’s why I’ve enjoyed branching out into the non-fiction world of biographies. I’m learning to listen, to see the living character and his story – then tell it. A new challenge! And I’ve made friends along the way with the most amazing 90 plus year old men you’d ever want to meet!

I hope I’m ninety and still shuffling my way to writers group. I don’t ever want to stop learning.