This week in my life has been unique, to say the least.

I started it with a trip to Seattle, to see close friends who live far. Friends I’ve known for the best part of two decades. Friends who deserve the name family at this point.

I talked about my writing a lot this week, rather than doing it. I reflected. I probably bored a half-dozen wonderful people to tears. I hope it was only a half-dozen.

I edited a friend’s work, and shocked myself at how much red I used. It was a rough draft, red was to be expected, but I found myself more detail-oriented than I can normally hope to be. Words are where I’m meant to be.

Today a story sprang full-formed into my head. It took me a while to write it, but it was amazing how it tumbled forth out of me. It was a short story, three pages long, and so poignant to me that I didn’t want to share it with anyone. Inexplicably, I ended up sharing it with my artist friend, Heather G. She asked me to draw her an angry caterpillar. She’s aware that I have about as much skill drawing as an angry caterpillar does. She didn’t care. She has nefarious plans for my drawing, so despite my reluctance, she shall have him.

I have too much too do. I know it. It doesn’t help that the final volume of a formative book series came out, and I’m busy devouring it like a starving man.

Having something to be passionate about is the key to life, I think. At least, it’s working for me thus far!