Saturday morning breakfast: microwave omelet, fresh fruit, and hot tea.
I’m drinking a perfect cup of tea and eating Saturday breakfast. Like always, Andy made it for me. Snuggled under a blanket with my laptop balanced on my knees, writing in the day. No plans for laundry or dusting or meal planning until later, much later. I’m burying myself in fiction, allowing the characters to siege my mind.
It’s quiet now, but not for long. Soon I will open my latest chapter. I will read it aloud and the characters will wake up. I will listen. They will talk. The words will wrap around each other, spinning a story. I’m learning to have faith in this process. To know it takes only a gentle tug on a line, a little nudge from a thought and the story will spark.
I’m learning to believe in myself as a storyteller.