Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Inventory
I spent a good chunk of today sorting and organising. Going through the clutter, I found a lot of trash--mismatched knitting needles, broken rubber bands, scraps--and one or two treasures. Digging in one bag, I came up with a little packet of paper all folded up. It was something I'd written more than ten years ago, the first chapter of a novel. I remember writing it when Mary was a tiny baby. Looking back, I can see that I was unsettled. I was twenty-one. About two years in, marriage still felt new. I had just finished my degree. And suddenly, I was someone's mama. There was a lot of adjusting. Everything was unfamiliar. I was unsure. Reading today, what I wrote then, I felt impressed by the bravery of my effort. In a bewildering season, it took a lot of courage to believe in my ability, or perhaps my right, to put together ten (clumsy) pages. It could be time for chapter two.
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