Floundering in Parenthood, and Other Musings of the Day.

My Precious Tale is writhing in agony, desperate to shed its skin for the fuller, magnificent pelt of adulthood. I keep seeing glimpses of the things it could become, but I cannot seem to give it the tools it needs to do so; there’s so much to impart upon it that I don’t know where to start.

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Foreboding Reality:

I'm going to miss Borders' Meetings when I leave, perhaps more than any other single regular activity.

I'll miss the face-to-face honest feedback and ideas. I'll miss the sense that there are others out there who value that spark which makes us show up at the page/screen. And I'll miss being exposed to a myriad of works, in styles I'd barely read in any other place.

Most of all, I think, I'll miss the discussions, where the writing and the writers rub against one another until a spark, a flame, a rumbling fire ensues. Every week the differing experiences and topics lead to a new hoard of tangents. And you always learn something, without setting out with that in mind.