Finding the Words

After an extended dry period of production and interest, I am enjoying a writing renaissance.

It is pleasing to rekindle a skill that never left, but was dormant.  The reawakening began at the start of this year, when my husband and I decided to do a writing project together on a pioneer in jazz education who built a world-renowned business from his basement home in New Albany, Indiana.

It was a challenge because my husband has the musical knowledge and chops, and I have the project management and writing skills.  We also have different work styles: he procrastinates, and I fume, because I’m waiting for him to get started.

At some point, I just started writing, and before I knew it, the project—a website—was done. 

Writing is an unconscious act for me, preceded by processing and organizing the material.  When I am ready to write, I simply start and the words flow easily.  It amazes me every time, but I know to follow and the words will come.

I do not mean this in a haughty or self-congratulatory way.  It simply is. 

Ever since I began reading from the dictionary before age 5, to the amazement of all the adults around me, words have been my treasures.

I am fortunate to have had a long career with words, and now, in my later years, I’m finding them all over again.