Day 78. I woke up extra early. At 4am. An outrageous hour, but I wanted to get at least two hours of writing in before another beast of a day. The writing was gentle, good. I cobbled together important pieces of my story. My character is really struggling. He wakes up in his apartment and can't remember the night before. He knows that something happened, but the details elude him. There are cuts all over his hands.
There is some quote about showing up. About how 90% (or some other percentage) of success is about showing up. There are other writerly quotes about putting our butts in chairs. I do not remember the exact words, but no matter. I know what they mean. I am feeling what they mean.
So much of writing, and of life, is about commitment. About committing to people, to places, to projects, to passions. To ourselves. At the end of the day, and today will be a long one, that's what this is about, whatever this is. This waking up and showing up, this writing words and dreaming dreams and drinking coffee. This thing I'm doing.
A question lingers, one that is bigger than just me, just my book: Are we showing up for the people and things that matter most to us in life? Are we being true to what we want and need, what we think we might want and need? Or are we hiding under the covers, shielding our eyes from the keen daylight, the harsh truth of it all?
I could go on. Oh could I go on. But now I must show up for this day, these three little girls.