As you may remember from earlier this month, one of my resolutions for the year is to write every day. This might seem like a pretty simple task but when you add three kids 5 and under, an artist/poet/songwriting husband, a handful of great friends and a group blog, training for a half marathon, and a new part-time job you can see where it might be hard to find the time for words. I have actually been doing really well, especially for me. Usually if I set a goal and miss it one time (which happened to me three times this month, just in the interest of honesty) I throw the entire thing out the window and spend a week moping about how I’m a terrible person and I can’t even culture one little habit, blah, blah, blah. Yes, I can be a real joy to be around. But this year is different. I can just feel it. This is my year. This is a good year.

I have missed three days so far this month but you know what? I just kept plugging away. What I wrote wasn’t the most amazing or polished writing, but it was words on a page, everyday (almost). My goal for January is 500 words per day and it has been really amazing to me to see how easily they come…most days. There were a few times where I was counting up words every dozen or so just waiting for the 500 mark. But that is where the rubber meets the road. When it’s hard and I don’t want to write and I just want to give myself a pass and go watch Dr. Who, that’s when it’s most important to get those words on the page. Most of the time, I am writing after the gym which is after the kids in bed which means my writing time is usually eleven thirty or later. But I’ve enjoyed most of it, I was a night owl before kids and I think my body is kind of enjoying it again.

To ensure success, an old writing buddy and I have linked forces once again for inspiration and accountability. We get together (online) every Sunday night to write for a while and to think tank longer pieces we are working on. This week, the prompt was to write a story titled Kinetic Energy. At the beginning it was rough going and I restarted the piece about three times before it just started coming to me. I thought you might like a sneak peek at what came out of it so, without further ado, Kinetic Energy:

It was two days longer than normal when she showed up again, all softness and smiles. Something was different. She was keeping a secret, it seemed. She walked with power and purpose. But she kept me at arm’s length. This hadn’t been a lovers’ quarrel. I was on the outside now, the outside of what I wasn’t sure. She cut her hair. Got a manicure. She spent evenings out with friends and came home with red wine in her teeth.  She stopped sleeping so late, remembered to eat, painted her toenails red. The letters started coming in a few weeks into this change of habit. They were plain, stamped return addresses of galleries near our apartment, a few in DC and NY. I asked her about them and she gave me a generic answer. She shopped for gowns. I couldn’t write. I needed to know what was going on, with her, with us. She wouldn’t talk about it. Answered my questions with her own. “What are you talking about? What big changes?” Things were as they always had been according to her. As if I hadn’t been the muse. The one encouraging her. Pushing her. Driving her along. She would smile at my outbursts, amused and aloof. She made plans for an installation, displayed in two galleries, didn’t have time to talk.