Day 12: A good way to relax.
Well, this is my ideal way to relax:
I mean, does it get better than reading on the beach? Not unless there’s also a nice cool drink nearby. 😉
Since the beach is hours away, the ideal relaxation is not feasible, so I relax by reading at home, or zoning out with Netflix/Hulu or music. And writing, of course. Writing, for me, is a weird mix between relaxing and exciting.
Day 13: Your writing hero.
My writing hero? Hmm. So many authors come to mind. I’ll just name a few. J.K. Rowling – I mean, obviously. She is just incredible. Maya Angelou – a wonderful poet – so smart and precise and poignant with the words she wrote. Emily Dickinson – a poet whom I first related to, and one who kept her talent hidden and wrote for the love of writing. That is admirable. I wish that she would have shared with more than her immediate family – but, one feels the way she feels. Lois Lowry – I mean, The Giver is brilliant – what a great writer. These days, I’d have to say Kristin Hannah and Emme Zava – and when my writer friend, E.H. Demeter publishes her first book, I can add her to the list. I mean, there’s a never-ending supply of talented writers and phenomenal books out there – I’m sure I’ll come across more writing heroes soon.
Day 14: Your personal cheerleader.
To be honest, I wouldn’t say I have one. I know people are aware that I write, but I don’t feel there’s any one person (or more) who really encourages my writing and cheers me on. Besides my writing friends – especially Tracy and Jenn.
Day 15: What you eat while writing.
I don’t eat when I write. Is that weird?
Day 16: Favorite sentence ever written.
Really? That’s impossible. Seriously. I’d have to re-read all of my favorite books, stories, and poems to come to some sort of answer for this. I guess I’ll go with the same answer as my favorite quote: There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. – Maya Angelou. Gosh, there are so many other beautiful lines. I’m currently reading Kristin Hannah’s The Nightingale, and I do recall a few lines that sort of blew me away: “If I had told him the truth long ago, or had danced and drunk and sung more, maybe he would have seen me instead of a dependable, ordinary mother. He loves a version of me that is incomplete. I always thought it was what I wanted: to be loved and admired. Now I think perhaps I’d like to be known.” Gah, doesn’t that just … speak to you? Leave you envious that you didn’t write it? Make you appreciative that someone did? A few pages later, she writes this little gem: A look passed between the women. In it was everything they felt and feared. (Their spouses had just gone off to war.)