I spent the weekend writing.  That is a very big, important statement for me to make as writing has been extremely difficult since radiation treatments.  And so it was wonderful to spend a rainy weekend with words flowing as fast as the rain.  Actually flowing, with no stops and starts, no discouragement, no fears that the writer in me had died.  And then, because writing is my business, when I finished I was a good girl, and documented the hours.

To prove that I actually write a few years ago I started a writing calendar, where I would go in and track the date and time spent on writing business.  When it was time to do my taxes, I gave that information to my accountant.  But then it dawned on me that it wasn’t proof at all because there was no way to show that I hadn’t pulled numbers arbitrarily out of my head.  So I started making notes of exactly what I was working on.  Which chapter in what story, problems with characters, problems with plot, things I discovered that worked or didn’t.

Yesterday as I was updating my writing calendar, it hit me that this was a writing journal.  Can you hear the word ‘Duh!’ in all caps, shouted out?  No this isn’t in a pretty, bound journal and written with the perfect pen.  But it is a record of my struggles and triumphs, especially over the past two years as I’ve waited for writing to return, achingly tracking the loss of words. 

All this time I’ve fought against the idea of keeping a journal, and all along I was keeping one and not realizing it.  It’s so amazing how we deceive ourselves.  By calling it a writing calendar and telling myself that it was for taxes and business, I was able to journal. 

This past weekend was one of discovery, and one of welcoming something that’s been missing, and one of realizing that I may slowly be healing.  Because for me, writing is proof that I’m whole.  This was a tentative step, but a pretty big one nonetheless.

Oh, and I do have the perfect pen by the way.  A garnet Waterman that my husband gave me.  What a smart man.