In a recent class I taught on finding the stories that matter, my retired adult students named people they’d like to write about and more importantly, people in their lives who meant a great deal to them. The students’ stories, in this case, often came from childhood memories.
The Christmas season has come and gone and the New Year is upon us. My non-literary life has been busy, but I can’t come up with any more reasonable excuses to take time off from the hard work of writing, so I’ve been crafting guest blogs for various sites I’ve committed to.
I thought I’d slip a few posts in early, scheduling them for later this month. To my surprise, there were a number of posts already scheduled for three and even four months in advance. So that’s how the professionals do it.
I told myself I’d earned a rest from the drudgery of real life. What would a few days matter anyway? Presents were purchased, wrapped, and delivered. Cookies and pies lined the freezer walls. Those with nowhere to go had been invited to share our turkey dinner. Why, I’d even cleaned long neglected corners. What else did I have to do? I sighed in relief.
You took a holiday from your writing over Christmas, too, didn’t you? Oddly enough, during that first Christmas, the participants worked harder than ever.