Writing my book backward
I arrived at my mother’s apartment ready to write. As I stepped through the door, I was greeted by a small black feather, lying on the hardwood floor.
I dug right in – thinking I would just start writing my book backward (which was the guidance that I received two days ago).
And I am writing backward – but first, I seem to be reliving it backward. Reading through hundreds of pages – torn from journals and scribbled into the margins of books (and then torn out), piles of Post-It Notes, backs of diner placemats and receipts, scraps of sketch pads – is the most illuminating and satisfying kind of journey.
The book is forming inside of me – memory by memory, insight by insight as I stand, another cup of tea warming my hands, listening to my favorite music. What an experience.
And writing is looking more like sorting today – wading through piles and piles of notes. As I come to the end of this book project, I am feeling so connected to it – and feeling as if I must go through and honor every piece of paper I’ve written a note on about this book before I finish this book. #ALotOfPaper