I used to love grey mornings. It was like being wrapped in silvery cotton - the rain pattering gently on the window, the fog winding around the house, and the cool spring freshness creeping in through the open window. And then I got older, and grey days were just another day that I had to get up and do adult things, rather than lying in my bed and dreaming. 


Lately, grey days have meant headaches and pain meds and bed, since my sinuses hate me. And yet, now that I've been home, the grey days are starting to weave their magic again. Stories come to me as I lie in bed, even if it doesn't rain. Characters are whispering to me again. Even Shanna, who hasn't been talking to me for a while.


It's spring, which I usually love. This year, it's been hard, since I'm mourning for those I've let go. I don't want to say lost - I didn't lose them. They just moved on without me, and although I'll follow, at some point, I'm now finding my way along through the world. It's spring, a new beginning, in more ways than one.


Yes, I mourn. I mourn the time that we won't have, the experiences we won't share, the memories we won't make. But I also turn my face to the warming sun and remember that I still have memories to make, experiences to have, books to write.


I'm on a PD James kick right now, and one of the lines really jumped out at me. They were discussing a writer who may or may not have been murdered (there was hanging involved), and the detective said, "She hadn't finished her book. Do you really know any writer who would kill themselves before finishing their book?"


That got me thinking. I have so many books to finish. But time isn't guaranteed. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed. And floating along means I'll never finish, and means I'll leave things undone. I don't want to do that. I will, I'm sure, but until I do pass beyond the Veil, I'm going to start writing as if tomorrow is my last day.

.

Profile

vg_ford: (Default)
vg_ford

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags