When I mentioned to Jack the other day that I was happy I'd started writing here again, he said: yeah, but if you took all the time you spent blogging and worked on a new book, you'd be done already. And it would be a good one.
Words of wisdom from a 10 year old - at least about the getting it done part.
And yet, I can't start. I'm not sure why. I know how to write a book. I've done it plenty of times before. Then again, every single other project I've worked on has had a subject that I could research, find images for, background about. I've spent countless hours scouring ebay for vintage ads and ephemera, trolling online for obscure facts to share with the world.
I'm not thinking about that kind of book this time.
Perhaps that's why I'm stuck here.
I want to write my kidney book. Or, I feel like I should. Even more honestly, I feel like I should feel like I should. It's now a part of my past. Would anyone be interested reading it? Would I be interested writing it? And if not, what? There are plenty of other ideas I could grasp onto and delve into, but nothing is calling to me. Compelling me. Screaming my name and making me make it real.
At least not today.
But just thinking about it is a really good first step.