In for the night. Emma asking me what I loved most about being a dad. Told her watching them grow and learn, spending time with them and learning with them, having them close…. Was surprised by her question, honestly. She does’t usually have these observation and sweeping informational life asks.
Have to work on the MAP, but later. Not forcing self to do anything. Giving myself some grace, as you hear so many today say.
.683, my current average. Gone down a bit since I haven’t been hitting the caught word count. Who am I fooling… I say don’t count, but I do.
Jack relaxing, Emma and Henry too. Me, with angst over projects, writing… Facebook memories reminding me how quick time has just fucking ditched me.
Truer and freer in all pages. My declaration, affirmation… like a pig in mud, rolling around just because. The pig probably thinks, “This is what we do, so I’m gonna do it…” Me, same. The type of writer I am. About EVERYTHING.
How to think, how to write, translate what surrounds you…. Rather than writing a short story or novel I gavel, “Be the character and story and novel…” Journal bites.