I've discovered a hand-me-down SAD lamp on my bookshelf. With sunrise smears still in the sky on our 8:45am preschool walk, I'm finding excuses to sit under it. The most practical spot to set it up is on my desk, so it looks like I'll be writing again today. It's Friday, so that suits me just fine. I've set my timer for another five-minute free-write, hosted by Kate Motaung. Details and link-up are here.
Today's prompt is "prepare".
Freeze thaw chinook zone has brought on the ice. I'm stepping as carefully as I was last December, when the culprit was unseasonal freezing rain and the babe on my back was still in my belly. It's time to write that birth story.
Writing about an event I experienced knowing I would write of it is hard. I went in with my eyes open, storing up every detail. I remember too much. This story is also my third. Unlike the first babe, whose coming was spilled out with enthusiasm on every post-natal meet-the-baby visit, I've hardly spoken of this birth at all. I remember too little.
But slowly, it's coming together. Point form, arrows, scribbled, get-it-all-out style. My roughest draft of anything I've ever written. From book and pen to typed out outline, it's all prepared. A labour about a labour, all on its own.