Yesterday, the dragon spawned some paragraphs in my brain. Last night, when I couldn't sleep, I typed up most of them, but left at a place where I knew what would come next.
Today I consulted my doctor again (second time in a single year) about insomnia. When it visits only occasionally, insomnia is a writer's friend. When it shows up night after night, it's a stalker. It steals your mind and sometimes your body throughout the entire day. My prescription will be ready later. Meanwhile...
I've written something--a journal, short stories, poems--for as long as I can remember. I know that my desire to write, and especially to write for children, developed because my mom read to me. It started out as bribery: late in my high chair days, I wouldn't eat, and my "Italian" mom (obsessed with my eating, of course) made me an offer I couldn't--and didn't--refuse; she would read me a story, if I would eat. I guess you could say that stories fed my body, mind and soul. Later, I loved to read and went to the library as often as I could...or ran down to the Bookmobile that stopped on the corner of our street once a week. (If you know what a bookmobile is, you're probably around my age.) I still love reading, and writing.
Now I have a new purpose, especially for the writing: to serve Love (God) and to communicate His love to my audience. He has allowed me to do that in very blatant ways, so far. What I'd like to do next is see if we can do it with a little more subtlety... Meanwhile, I'm going ahead to give to others today by truly listening, by sharing ideas or an experience, and by making other's burdens my own--always prudently, of course.
If you are burdened in any way, be assured of my prayers for you, dear reader. May you know God's immense love for you today, and every day.
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