I have intentionally taken a break from working on my children's story over the last week. I love writing, particularly this story. I feel very driven to write today, the way I feel the need to have a cup of coffee in the morning. I think this compulsion to write this morning is a sign I am doing the right thing with my life (as opposed to traditional work).
I promised myself I will exercise before I do anything today then I will spend the afternoon writing today until my kids return from their dad's house. It feels like a gift to myself - like a spa day. Maybe I can convince my husband to cook a wonderful low fat lunch for me (to not undo the exercise).
I always wanted to write and remember a writing assignment in 6th grade. Our wonderful teacher, Mrs. Pennington, who replaced our horrible troll-like teacher, Mr. Wells, gave us a creative writing assignment. I choked. I remember wanting there to be a Christmas mouse in the story. All I had was the character, a picture I drew, and absolutely no plot. I was eleven and exactly the same perfectionist I am today - in my entire K through 6 experience, only the toll-like Mr. Wells had given me a grade less than an A. The perfectionism paralyzed me and my Christmas mouse story. I wanted to write a story so much and couldn't write the first word - I knew in my heart I was a failure.
I think that's funny how that day that I couldn't write the story has stayed with me - as has the C on the social studies homework graded by the troll. Maybe I can write a Christmas mouse story today and convince my inner 6th grader that I just needed some time and confidence.