Despite the catalogue insisting there was one copy available, the helpful library person (librarian?) and I could not find it and believe me - we looked. Since then it has sat quietly on my card, a simple request for a book, going nowhere.
Three months later, knee deep in second hand books I'm sorting for the school white elephant stall and it appears in my dirty hand like an offering from the volunteer /writer gods. So I take it home and begin to read, but very slowly, I can't fully absorb myself into it. This is an old dusty book that has a lot of great stories. It sits by my bed and gets picked up maybe once a week and now that I think about it - I haven't read any in over a month.
Then today I'm once again spending some Sunday afternoon time at the library and I enquire about another book I have on order. It's available for me but not at this library, it's at the other one which doesn't open on a Sunday. The librarian looks pleased though and tells me to hang on for a minute because there is something out the back for me. I think she means another copy of the new David Baldacci I'm waiting for and I'm a bit excited waiting for her to return.
She brings me out a brand new edition, clean smelling, paper back copy of 'On Writing'. It looks and feels so full of promise - I can't wait to read it. (Still looking forward to picking up the Baldacci tomorrow though).
Two weeks ago I bought myself a $400 laptop, so I could/would write more. Finding the energy to write out the thoughts that swirl around your mind into something cohesive, that connects, that is genuine...it's intimidating. Yet it's also joyful, liberating.
Yesterday I received some wonderful praise for this blog. It was unexpected and heartfelt and it lifted me up to the clouds. Connection through words on a screen.
I think what I'm feeling might be called inspiration...
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