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The spark.
I’m biking, walking, working, showering, and suddenly there’s a voice. It’s my voice, but not. It’s Whole Heart Local.
Ideas spool out. Emotions, snippets, funny asides. In my head, a dialogue that I don’t quite direct. Mostly, I listen. Mostly, I feel it out . . . a blog post is born.
I write what I hear. Listen more. Worry some (though not nearly as much as when engaged in writing fiction), and consider possible repercussions. I edit, then post.
To some this might sound like magic. Just another writer/artist out there, myth-talking my process. Others know this process well -they flirt or fight with their own versions.
For me, there is a type of magic, but more an experience of wonder and gratitude. The effort can be delicate, sensitive to disruptions. Which is why, WHL posts recently dried up. Too much on my plate.
When I’m not writing for WHL, I miss it. There is a satisfaction that comes with getting a blog post just right -unexpected spelling errors, spacing issues, left-out conjunctions, and all. The imperfect perfect that I stretch for.
Am I back on task with WHL? Nope. Fall was just as event, activity, and responsibility heavy as last spring and summer. But it still speaks to me, WHL. I race to capture the words –whether I’m biking to work, showering, reading, whatever.
As long as it speaks, I’ll try to keep listening.
