Our bloggers group at Inkwell suggested a post on a memory that gets us through the rough patches in writing. A memory that holds us still in the moments when we encounter doubt as writers, when things don't come out quite as planned and brings us down. A memory where we can believe in ourselves again.
I was about twelve when my dad brought home a dinosaur of a typewriter-- a bright orange Reed that hummed louder than an idling Harley. That dinosaur brought me order in a world of chaos. It was typing on that marvelous piece of prehistoric equipment that kept me sane.
I didn't write for anyone but me. I didn't need someone to critique my work. I didn't need encouragement nor justification to write. It was just me and the words.
This is what holds me steady when I begin to question myself. It is what keeps me true to myself.
Would you like to share yours?