We recognize instantly when a child needs lifting up, often without the need for words at all. We stop what we're doing. We respond. We lift them up - physically and metaphorically - and suddenly everything feels better. So why do we stop?
There they have waited patiently since being packed away last January. Covers calling out to be cracked open, pages poured over by curious eyes who remember the gist of the stories but delight in the details all over again every December. Old is new again. Hello my precious Christmas books.
An important part of my journey this year has been learning to stop for the small moment it takes to properly notice the beauty of fleeting things, like dew drops.
When I received my first rejection letter, generically worded as it was, I felt...honored. A bit special. Like I'd earned my first Brownie badge. Lost my first tooth. Received my first 'participation' medal on sports day. Rejection is a writer's right of passage, after all.
For the past few weeks my head has been full of rocks. Rocks in waking moments, rocks in my dreams. Not just any rocks. Really special rocks. Kindness rocks.
Creativity is a combination of discipline and a childlike spirit.
Locked in a soundproof cell with padded walls is the place I am best able to find my sanity and lose my mind simultaneously.
"Don't be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand."