Seasons of Ending

Three years ago I spent New Year's Eve in contemplation. It was one of the first times I embraced that it wasn't necessary to be happy happy joy joy in a group setting, and I was thinking about my grandmother.

She had been diagnosed with cancer, and no one expected her to live much longer. Months. We hadn't given up on her, but I still knew the loss would be coming, and I didn't know what to do with it or how to handle it. I loved my grandmother, but we never particularly got along. We tried, and we both ended up rubbing the other the wrong way, and after a while neither of us knew how to make amends or try again. It's not that we couldn't do things together at all, we just didn't know how to get to know each other deeper.

And that was a loss.

So on New Year's Eve, late at night, a friend showed a video of a song he loved. It's a good song, and I say now it's a good video. At the time, though, I couldn't watch it without aching and wanting for all the world to cry, tears streaming right there unashamedly and uncontested.

But I don't show "negative" emotions well. At the time it was a stretch for me to curl up on the oversized armchair, chin and arm draped low on the armrest, and ponder life while friends around me continued on unaffected. It was a challenge for me to go to the other room which was dark and empty, cradled by the gaming rocker, and let the pent up aches and emptiness of pending loss seep out my skin and trickle down my face in silence.

I knew I wouldn't be found. I knew my emotions wouldn't change the atmosphere. I knew I wouldn't be comforted.

In a way, I didn't want to be. Because sometimes when comfort is offered it's like a stopper to the raw feelings that desperately need poured out. I need space to ooze, even melt a little, and I don't like dripping on other people, so I close up the window in my wall around me, the window I sometimes open to let the inside air out. It's one-way and it's not a door. I can open it out, but no one can come in. Even with a passing, kind observer, I'm tempted to pull the curtain down so nothing inside can be even seen.

That New Year's Eve I embraced the season of ending that filled my life. I mourned. I stayed quiet. And I cried. I also rose, joined in partaking the sparkling juice, and cheerfully enough wished everyone a happy new year ahead. All the while knowing pain was coming my way.

This New Year's Eve I have realized I'm in another kind of season of endings. Since the past six or so months, I've said goodbyes and until-next-times with nearly everyone I know. I left one place, what had been my world, and came to visit another, finding ways to slowly integrate and learn the local happenings of life and make friendships. But I'm still in the season of ending. I'm still thinking of my home, still wondering if I could make this new place my home, still yearning to find my heart home.

This new year that is upon us will greet some of us like a new puppy, bubbling over with delight and readiness, some of us like a slow grave digger, with reminders of what was and will forever be changed, things that are forever beyond our reach now, and some of us like something inbetween.

This eve, I'm in another season of ending, and I don't feel like celebrating. I feel like pondering, sitting in that poofy armchair, and finding a safe place to cry if the tears will come.

But this time there is no party to seek solace from, no group of friends around when I'm ready to join the crowd again and celebrate.

This time I'm marking the change in the calendar with little more than I give any other day. And that is another part in my season of endings. The friendships aren't gone, but for now, the reach is a lot harder, the rooms a lot farther.

So long, 2013.

One Word 2013

A year ago I learned about the idea to choose one word instead of making a list of New Year's Resolutions. Yes, please, I loved the idea right away having many times been frustrated by lists, lists, lists. I either could never come up with things for a list that I actually cared about or I knew the list wouldn't last beyond the first three weeks of January. Or both.

At first I didn't know what my word would or could be. But two things happened and I had it in an instant. My sister-in-law had mentioned One Word 365 and that she chose to keep her word private and personal. I knew I could pick a word if I didn't have pressure to share it, because I knew it would be an intimate thing. Then I read the post that explains One Word 365 and mentions that if the word doesn't scare you, that's not the right word. 

My heart skipped a beat as my word for 2013 slammed into it like a clingy ping pong ball. I knew my word. I knew there was no going back. And I knew I had to try.

I feared failing, and just as much I feared succeeding. Because my word would turn my world upside down if I let it. Which is exactly what I wanted, and exactly what I feared.

My word seemed impossible.

It was also the thing I wanted most.

I started strong but directionless, trying to find ways to live my word out in the little things. Life is daily, and so was my word. It was encouragement, it was a challenge.

There were brief seasons the whole thing slipped my mind, but the word always came back, ready to urge me onward.

And there were days I saw my life taking the shape of my word as I made hard choices while keeping it in mind.

It seemed impossible, yet here at the year's end, I have embraced and lived my word for 2013 more perhaps than I ever have before. And because of it, I'm looking forward to how much I will own it and live it out in ten years because I took the first steps now.

My word was FREE.

Now I'm looking forward to the next year and the next word. I’m not sure what it is yet, and I feel a bit like I'm trying too hard to find it. I'm not sure the fear will feel the same as it did last year, because last year my word was terrifying, and also I've seen what incredible things can happen in my life with a focus on one word for the bigger picture. Though I haven't quite found my word for 2014 yet, I think I'm close. I'm hoping it will clutch my heart and hold on fast much like free did. This year I'm more hopeful and a little bit less scared.

This perfect girl is gone, too.

I'm not sure I can say how much I love the song "Let It Go" and its scene from the movie Frozen. If you haven't watched the movie yet, I highly recommend it, and also, this post will have spoilers. Don't worry, we can squeal over it together after you've seen it. I'll be here.


Now then, you've seen it?

Isn't it awesome?!

Here, let's see it again:

::happy sigh::

So, Elsa and this song touched me as powerfully as the end of Tangled did, but for a different reason. With Eugene's act, I saw Jesus reflected. With Elsa's freedom, I feel her realization, joy, and transformation of acceptance.

I'm struggling for the words, but the depth of my groans just don't translate well in the blogosphere. Auuggh! Okay, I had to. I just can't get enough of this song! (Seriously, I've been watching it two or three dozen times while writing this post.)

I ached with Elsa as a child, fearing something was wrong with her, that she could only hurt others, growing up hiding from everyone and everything. It wasn't the right choice, and we know when we're watching that it's not the right choice, yet it's exactly the sort of thing that we do in our own lives every day.

Everyone completely missed that her power can be beautiful.

And when she let's it go...it's stunning. The snow, the ice, the things she can do with them, and the freedom smile that makes her glow.

Yet there's also the hint that Elsa could become dangerous, just like everyone feared. She could become a villain at this point. She fully embraces who she is, and it's distinctly different than what she was told she had to be all her life. Seeing that change is a bit scary to me, to know how starkly different the two are. To know that very contrast is also possible in me. Her transformation is so complete that we know she might go too far if someone pushes her now. This is who she is, and she is powerful and passionate, embracing all of who she is including the raging storm within her.

She is both majestic and dangerous. And really, when we embrace the truth of our own selves, aren't we as well?

What I'm Into November 2013, or Things I'm Thankful For

I've been watching Leigh Kramer's What I'm Into posts, enjoying them, and wanting to participate. Now I'm finally going to do it!

An old friend acquaintance sent a message earlier today that got me thinking about the things I've done lately, and I realized quite a few things of note happened last month.

All month:

So, first off, in October I wrote a post about National Novel Writing Month and my intention to participate again. The goal of 50,000 words daunted me working full time and living in a new home, but the pattern of it quickly became a comfort. The set up of my word processor, music, and earbuds became a ritual; I was entering sacred space and I loved it. There were a few times I fell behind and wondered if I could catch up, but I allowed myself grace at the same time that I required words. It was a funny balance, but I learned about my own writing mechanics. I also pantsed the entire story to date, allowing more freedom for the silly and nonsensical, time travel you know and all that. I still write serious and need to work on my humor (funny is hard!), but the characters and events are better for my lack of a strict outline. On November 29th, I reached that longed for word count milestone. On November 30th I wrote some more because the story wasn't done and I had the itch to keep writing. And so I did, and so I shall.

In addition to writing, I indulged in as much Doctor Who as I could, catching up on all the series before the 50th anniversary episode, when my household had a party with Jammie Dodgers, Jelly Babies, popcorn, and more. I love that show, and the 50th anniversary episode did not disappoint.

After The Day of the Doctor, Peter Capaldi's eyebrows showed up in a game my brother and sister-in-law played on each other. I was the unintended victim a couple of times, and it was great. Eventually it escalated, and the 12th Doctor's eyes were vandaleyes'd. No pic of that, though, sorry.

Last month, I was also told that I am an empath. I hadn't realized such a thing was a real-life possibility and not just the stuff of superheroes and fiction, but it explains so much of my past and present, how I experience life and other people. I'm keeping my eyes open for more resources and information on this subject.

Firsts:

It's hard to believe it was such a short time ago now, but in November, on a beautiful, fresh Sunday afternoon, a friend took me to see the ocean, which I had never seen with my own eyes before. I knew I'd be going back and I already have once.

The last morning of November was spent on a yacht, traversing the harbor with the family. It was great to get out and do something with everyone, and the admission price was a present for Toys for Tots, which my niece was very excited about giving. Near the end of the trip, the boat went under the bridge pictured below. It's huge and amazing (it's actually one of my favorite places in the area--the view!). I lingered outside, taking in the vastness of the bridge, sky, water, and breeze. Also, no pictures, but I caught my first glimpse of a dolphin jumping out of the water!

Travel:

Midmonth, I went to Columbia and drank coffee. To clarify, I did not leave the country, or even the state. I headed to South Carolina's capitol city and watched a dear friend, a wonderful and inspiring woman, graduate from basic training. After the ceremony, I had the blessed time of enjoying an Olive Garden lunch and caramel macchiato with her and her family, some of my favorite people. It was so, so good to see them, and so hard to leave.

Reading:

I started reading Jesus Feminist (which I knew about primarily through my sister-in-law and Leigh Kramer, so thanks, ladies!), and it is amazing. I'd say my viewpoint on "women's roles" has changed even in the last couple of weeks, and for the better, in part due to this book's examination of how we live and what should be normal. I'm not through the book yet, but I don't expect it to take much longer.

It's also been a month since John Flanagan's book The Royal Ranger came out and I haven't read it yet! I pre-ordered, then decided to wait until December so I wouldn't be rushing through it (I anticipated bleed-over rush pace from writing so fast in November). Then I decided I should read one book at a time (I forget why, something about focus), and I started Jesus Feminist first. But this one is next (sorry, Jane Eyre) since I've been anticipating it for months.

Listening:

Like many, I have been introduced to Pentatonix's performance of The Little Drummer Boy, one of my favorite Christmas songs, and loved it. I'd heard their cover of Radioactive with Lindsey Stirling and liked it, but didn't know what I was listening to. Now I do and Pentatonix has a new fan. I love a sound that is full even without instruments.



Whew! It's been an odd, interesting, and typical month, jam packed with the ordinary and realizations, routine and special events. It's been even fuller than I'd realized. And I didn't even mention Thanksgiving, with my niece and brother racing on the Wii, or the fact that my list of "what I'm thankful for" was simple and I was too embarrassed to give one that was heartfelt. I do have a lot to be thankful for, and I'm learning how to express that, in the special and the ordinary both. This blog list is a good start.


So. What are you into?

Yes, but can I do it again?

Last year I hid in my closet for a month, occasional treats and hot coffee nearby, earphones on with my playlist waking up the right emotions, and keyboard offering the rewarding soft tapping noises. Fifty-three thousand words in thirty days.

That was a challenging, rewarding experience.

I learned that I could budget my time (some) and get out a rough draft of a complete novel in a hurry. I counted myself among the thousands of winners. I took a silly picture to show you my happiness. And then I got busy with other parts of life.

I won NaNoWriMo last year.

Yes, but can I do it again?

I'm nervous. I want to write a story next month. I need to write a story. But can I do it?

I can't even write this post. I'm getting distracted by other things and thinking I should spend my time elsewhere.

I know I need to do this. I need to know I can make myself, perhaps let myself, value the act of creating a work of words in a full time schedule, in a new town, new everything environment.

And I need to choose a project. The stories are bouncing around in my head with new fervor. It's an exciting orbit that if I let it will do nothing but continue to circle and I'll never tell another story. I have to pick one, temporarily valuing it more than the others to focus on it and make it right before I can tell the next one. Choosing is hard. I want to see where all of them will go. But I am a linear being, so if it is to happen, it must be one story at a time. Which one will be next month? Which one will I start in six days?

I don't know if this post is coherent or not. This evening I am an excited, jumbled, nervous mess. But I came across this quote on Twitter, and for now I'll leave it at pondering this quote from Maya Angelou:

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

Book Review: The False Prince

The False Prince

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

Last week, I read this book in six days, and half of it in one (a day well spent). That’s the fastest I’ve read any complete work in…probably since I was required to for a college class three years ago. It was that good.

We follow teenage orphan Sage and his capture into a deadly political game, pitting him against two other boys to be the best, him against his clever capturer, and, well, he’s basically on his own against everyone including the servants.

Thus the weaving of clever and accidental schemes of how a boy who just wants to be himself must put on the most complicated mask in order to survive to the next day. Every page, watching Sage maneuver, succeed, and fail made me wonder how much longer he would last. How much longer he could hold on to being himself.

Certain scenes from this book follow me to my late night thoughts when my mind is free to race, as I mull over the comparison of events as I knew them when reading and as I know them now having finished the book, adding a level of storyplay with reader that makes this one last beyond the final page.

Nielsen’s first book in the Ascendance trilogy is full of layered characters, unexpected twists, and anticipation that will keep you turning the page for more. The False Prince was published in April 2012 and The Runaway King came out less than a year later in March 2013. The third piece to the story, The Shadow Throne, is set to be released in less than six months, March 2014.

I want some time to fully process The False Prince before I pick up the second book, but I can tell you Jennifer Nielsen has a new fan and I intend to continue with her Ascendance Trilogy.

  

Change of Seasons

Autumn is priming the pump in Charleston. The days still warm up, but there are several that start and stay cool. Evenings are lovely. The windows are open.

In Oklahoma, it seemed as if we had one or two false starts to fall. Two to four days would be cool, maybe even a touch chilly, but then the fifth day would warm right back up for another week or two before it cooled down again and eventually stayed cool. Someone told me the weather does that here, too, they guessed. But to me it seems more like a preparation than a false start, reset the timer, and line up at the starting blocks to try again.

And with the change of seasons in my new home, I'm changing too. Getting settled. Transitioning. Learning new patterns.

For instance, today I went to the local, annual Friends of the Library booksale, and I didn't buy everything that I thought I might want to read sometime. The "sometime" books I can store at the library until I want them. I didn't even buy the one I was tempted to just because I knew it's a great book (the 1998 edition of The Care and Keeping of You, in case you wanted to know, a good approach to preteen girls on what changes their bodies are going or will go through and how it's perfectly normal...if memory serves). I will admit, I had to have a little help recognizing that, no, I did not need to own a copy of that one.

But this boarder hoarder is learning. Yes, I have a bookshelf now, so yes, I have a place to put more books, but that doesn't mean I need or even want to fill the whole thing up to brimming. Honestly, I don't think I ever want my life to be that full of just stuff again. And so, I kept my purchases down to favorites I was looking for and favorites I didn't already have that I would like to have on hand.



Then I went to the craft store, and my delight in the autumn season came forth. So many decorations! So many options! Forty percent off!

But, I kept it simple. Not more than I could carry. And not more than I had immediate design and purpose for--I can go back for more of their tempting, fun supplies when I have specific plans. All I wanted was just enough to spruce things up. Just enough to have something nice without ever coming close to the overwhelming it's-too-much-to-do-so-I-won't-do-anything mark.

Abundant pleasure from a few things.

Yes, I think my season is changing too.

The One I Wanted

I saw it in a thrift store, not marked for sale, but I measured it for size anyway. I'd already been looking for a week or two and hadn't found anything good. This one was different, unique, lovely. Old dried gum was stuck to the side, and I was already imagining cleaning it off. It held stacks of old coffee cups which looked like they would crack into each other if you looked at one.

This was a shelf made for books. This was a display. The spines would angle upward to the approaching reader like a heartfelt offering.

I asked if they'd sell. Not interested.

Still thinking about it and unable to find another shelf, I asked again two weeks later, this time with a suggested price. Not interested without a replacement to hold the mugs.

The next week, I bought a shelf for a replacement and asked again.

Not interested ever.

I may have sulked. Later I may have shed a tear (or had a nasty cry for a few minutes) as I put together the replacement shelf for myself.

Sorry, awesome bookshelf. Your destiny is to hold stacked coffee cups nobody wants instead of displaying books that will be read. I wanted to save you, enjoy you, reclaim you for your intended purpose. Take you to my new house the next time I move. But the future I imagined wasn't to be.

I couldn't save you.

And instead I got the substitute that was never meant for books. But it will do for now.

It's ugly. And not what I wanted.

But it has books on it; they're no longer stacked on the floor. And my room looks like a room.

 

Practicing Purposeful

This Labor Day weekend was an exercise in my word of the year. This Labor Day weekend, I made the most of my days by deciding what the things I really truly actually wanted to do most were. One must-do per day.

Of course, as days are long it evolved into divisions by time of day (morning, afternoon, after dinner), but I had a focus point. "Today I really want to spend some time ________________________." And it was different each day. Each thing required me to say no to the other, the unessential. Each thing required me to step up and pursue my life. I was--I am--pursuing what I want to do and who I want to be. I want to be a person unafraid to do what matters most to me. I want to be a person unafraid to choose what is most important to me.

Monday: Looked for books and did some writing at Barnes & Noble

I still did things for others. My personal list didn't interfere with being a contributing member of this household. And therein is the beauty. A balance with boundaries. Some for me; some for you. No one is cheated; no one is overextended.

Sunday: I remember sitting in a photo booth with my aunt years ago. Good times.

Does the weekend have to end?


Well, these days on the calendar do, of course. That's the nature of time. But this practice, why does it have to be only on long weekends, or non-work-days in general? Sure there are a limited number of minutes in a day. But that's why being purposeful with those minutes is so good. Not being obsessed--sometimes the timing won't work out or other things will take precedence over what I planned or wanted; that happens to everyone and it happened this weekend. So I just chose something else that was possible that I really wanted to do rather than wasting the time doing things that weren't important to me. Purposeful.

And that's what I've been practicing this weekend.

Saturday: Oh yes. I colored my hair for the first time ever. And probably not the last.

Happy Labor Day Weekend!

Living More

Since uprooting and traveling across half the country from my beloved Oklahoma to the unknown coast (which I still have not gone to see the ocean; I should get on that), starting my first ever paying full time job, and slowly unpacking the numerous boxes in my room...I feel like I do a lot more living.

I come home tired and so ready to be home. But when I think of all that's happened in the day, and then what I can still do after dinner (tea party with my niece, perhaps, or emptying several more boxes and tidying my fantastic room, or cleaning, or a Doctor Who marathon to name a few possibilities), the feeling is a not-quite-formed word of a good thing.

I think it could be... a little less defined by Other.

Obviously some days are more difficult, and sometimes I wonder why on earth I'm on the path I've chosen. At least those are good for reality checks. Yes, I am where I want to be. No, it's not perfect, but...

I'm becoming more myself.

That's what I needed.

I'm exploring. And that's something I've wanted to do for years and years, even before I could imagine having the determination and the guts to actually, positively, this is no longer in my imagination only step out. I'm exploring the world around me, including my new city. I'm exploring the friendships I have, and getting to know new people. I'm exploring who I am. And I believe that this will lead me toward exploring who God is.

But that is a step for another time. For now, this babe out of the womb just needs to know how far her fingers stretch.

I feel more actively involved in life. I don't entirely like being gone from the house for such a long stretch of the day, nor having limited time and energy to pursue my other interests and desires (sigh, writing fiction). But I do like trying on this purpose, the service I provide.

I meet a lot of people every day. People are different. Each one. They are Not Me. And I am Other Than Them. As it should be. And this is teaching me.

And I feel involved in life.

Isn't that a good thing?

The Tipping Point

It's been a long time coming, and once that tipping point arrives, there is no slowing down the follow through. It will come and it will be swift.

I'd been thinking about it for months, did I want to, did I have what it took, could I choose almost blindly, praying for faith at the same time that I exercised it?

The tipping point came when the theoretical turned tangible.


"Norman took the job in Charleston."

I blinked. It was only yesterday that there had been the faintest other possibility, not one that would be great. This, however, was exactly what we'd all been waiting for. Whether or not it was the where we'd been waiting for, well that would remain to be seen.

"He...he got the job?"

Mama nodded. "He just called."

This called for celebration! Finally, a solid tenure track position. They wouldn't have to be moving every year, my brother was getting the beginning of his dream, and more and more I'm hearing how lovely a place South Carolina is.

At the same time that I wanted to jump for joy, my world took a strange nose dive. The kind that a fighter plane takes and builds up speed. It can either swing up out of it with more momentum than ever, or it can stall out, continue to fall, and crash.

The theoretical had just become tangible.

I talked with Mama for a few more minutes about it, plying for answers, though nobody had any real details yet, just the big idea that my brother and his family once again had a new destination for the upcoming school year. Then, bubbling with excitement at all the possibilities, I climbed the stairs and faithfully logged on to Facebook. I sent one private message to two recipients. One word. "YAAAYYYY!"

Then I stepped away, though not far, and wondered how everyone's lives were about to topsy around.

A chime.

I looked. I had a new message.

From my sister-in-law.

"Did you want to come with us?"

I could feel it then, the tipping point, the door of no return, waited in front of me. My plane started diving. I was running out of time to decide.

But I had already decided a few months ago. I just had to work through my process and accept that I wouldn't know all the answers and that it would be okay anyway.

I got my final council from my closest advisor, tearfully admitted that it was what I wanted and it was even hard to say so, and finally accepted.

And then there was no stopping me.

 

It's like packing for a week long trip...without going anywhere.

Three days of dressing up (in my mind that equals anything of nicer quality than denim and simple but nice, no-logo t-shirts) with two evenings of really dressing up for use-the-correct-fork chicken dinner banquets. Oh, and a complimentary jacket with each outfit, because I know I'm gonna be cold. Ugh.

Generally speaking, I prefer low maintenance wear with a silly flair. And comfort. Always comfort.

So this conversation happened ... inside my own head:

"Is it okay to be quirky and not just...fancy? To impress people?"

"Are you quirky?"

"Yes."

"Do you enjoy being your quirky?"

"Yes."

"Heck yes, it's okay. In fact, you should."

"Whew. Okay."

I can't believe conference time is here.

 

Spring is Alive

Spring is my favorite season. It is renewal, fresh air, excited hope, open possibilities. It's alive.

It's also usually my most restless season. After my first big fight with allergies for the year, usually involving a day or two down and a week regaining my normal strength and breath (and getting rid of that nagging cough!), I feel better than ever and I'm ready to take flight. I suppose I want to make up for lost time. It doesn't matter if I have a direction or not--the one I'm traveling at any given moment will do--I just want to go. To drive. To travel. To see or try something new. To move.

Spring is energy. The grass regains its color. Fresh flowers and leaves spring up everywhere, an embrace to the change of weather. Even the sky and clouds take on a new, fresher color and vibrancy. Then the storms come. Energy colliding in a wild dance with thousands of partners in the air. Bolts of energy create the light show; thunder provides the beat. Rain quenches the thirsty performers, and sometimes hail decorates the ground like confetti.

With so much energy, so much newness, it seeps into my skin and fills me up until I can't hold still. I have to move. I have to go somewhere. I have to join the dance and freshness and do something new. I long to bloom and grow like the trees and flowers surrounding me. I ache to whip by like the fluffy clumps of cotton in the sky. I'm ready to sing like the birds and make something beautiful that was not there before as the flora do.

And yet, I'm only beginning to learn, only just guessing at how to do this. I'm ready to go in every direction, without focus. Which means I usually don't go in any direction; I just explode wherever I stand, only to build up again the next day or the next week and repeat the cycle...until suddenly spring is over and I've yet again missed the opportunity I feel every year to join the world and bloom, grow, and stretch out.

I'm afraid. Afraid of making mistakes mostly, but also afraid of accomplishing or discovering grand things. If I find out I can, I may never stop. And what then? I won't want to go back to the wading pool I'm familiar with, even if it's safer, if I discover the ocean.

This year, I hope, will not be the exact same futile cycle. This spring, I hope I'm more willing to take chances, to see that the day is full and long and waiting, and to try. This time, even if I don't know all the steps, I'm going to join the dance.

I'm alive.

Warm Up Exercise

Briefly looking through long forgotten drafts, I came across the phrase, "my head was crowded". ...My head is almost always crowded. Earlier today I was thinking, "I think too much." As the various layers that make me me, the few times when I'm not thinking I'm in one stage of exhaustion or another.

I've been trying to find some focus in areas of life lately, and aside from visiting calm.com with the consistency of the dabbler that I am, the only way I know how to gain focus is to employ focus. Soo helpful.

Anyway, with needing focus in mind and thinking about my writing goals, I thought I'd drop in for a little writing warm up, a brain/focus exercise, a social exercise, a patience exercise perhaps.

So, I'm going to find a writing prompt online and go for, say 150-200 words. Just to see what happens.

...... First choice was ...boring. Second choice was personal. Great.
But I'm not backing down. Why not go for it?

"Where do you go when you want to get away from the pressures of life, family, work, etc? Write about that place." (found at Creative Writing Prompts)

Sometimes I joke that books are my tardis. Okay, that’s only happened twice. Once? Ah well, it’s kinda true. When I’m run down and ready to vanish from this world for even just ten minutes, a book of my choosing is one of the first things I’ll want to pick up. TV stories and movies are great, and sometimes I’ll pick that because it’s easier or because I can share the experience with another. But books, ah the beauty of immersion in a book. I get involved when I watch a show, but I think I get more involved when reading. I love the format, the expression of the point of view. I want to smell what the hero smells. I want to know what the girl dressed as a boy is thinking without guessing. I want to be a part of long-established relationships as soon as I turn the page. I want to travel to the fantasy world and imagine the ground beneath my feet. I wonder what I would do in the world, in the story, in the friendships.

Maybe I'll do this warm up again sometime. Maybe that time I'll write something fiction.

In the meantime, onward with life and onward with story!