For the past three months I have been immersed in a final edit (only final until it goes to print, that is…) of book number two. Out-of-the-loop doesn’t begin to describe the hole I’ve been in…sequestration, in its non-political form, that is.
The novel is coming…becoming. 
Thoughts-going-to-the-page-becoming-things.
It’s been a great exercise during the last ninety days of political falderal. When one feels impotent against external circumstances, writing becomes a world of control and creation. A world where one uses mind and emotion benignly. You imagine the story and it appears on the page. The outcome is by your design. But it only happens on paper. Right?
Or does it?
What if the same process applied to a world absent the pen? 
What if the world we create is nothing more than mind and emotion, becoming?
Next time you wake, imagine the day you wish, not the day you dread. Read your expectant day like a novel where all good things happen and all things that happen are good.
Feel good. 
Try it. See what happens by day’s end. Let me know.
Write your own story forward.
Rewrite your script if you have to.
Another day brings a new opportunity to become.
We are all writers, whether we take pen to paper or fingers to a keyboard or put our feet on the pavement of life.
We are all writers, in deed. 