Driving to my writers' meeting today. I saw a boy and his father. The dad was stopped while the boy carefully studied something on the ground. I marveled at the joy of finding something to rivet your interest so fully. Then I thought, I can use this moment. Then I thought, gosh, have I gone mad? Am I only ever in author mode anymore? Am I a normal person? Have I lost it?
It seems everything I do is related to writing. Sucking in life's moments and spewing them out in stories/scenes/character ideas. It's a bit disconcerting.
I hope I haven't lost sight of the fact that life is precious - whether it's included in a book or not. Naw! I'm ok.
Life is a blessing.
Happy Easter/Passover/Spring Equinox
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