Some of the sexiest advice I’ve ever been given was this:
Follow the energy.
I had called my older sister looking for guidance. A sexy whitewater kayaker was attending my yoga classes and fantasies of him were keeping me up at night. But I’d just extricated myself from a complicated long-term relationship and it seemed rather insane to jump right back into something new.
But I took her advice and dove in heart first.
I just had my eight-year wedding anniversary with that sexy kayaker. As a gift I gave him a printed, bound copy of my mostly erotic somewhat spiritual memoir of our marriage. It’s thirty-five essays in manuscript format. It's got a title page, a quote, a foreward and even a table of contents.
It’s done. (For now anyway. The sexy adventures will never end with that man.)
I should be elated, celebrating and moving boldly forward with publishing, right?
Unfortunately, that energy isn’t around to follow.
Instead I’ve been tucked into my high-country nest feeling rather uninspired about the realities of creating a writing career in the current publishing climate. I have a stack of materials from my latest writer’s conference and I know what I need to do next. I just can’t find the mojo to do it.
One of my writing friends pointed out that I’d just birthed a big creative project.
“You’re post partum,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
So I've been wondering, does that mean I get six weeks of creative maternity leave on this project?
Because where the energy is beckoning lately is towards a leather portfolio I unpacked last week. It's the draft of the erotic romance novel I was working on ten years ago when my man showed up, a mindblowing manifestation of the sexy qualities of both my male leads blended into one.
I think I'll take that dusty old draft to the cabin this weekend and see what happens.
Are you following the energy in your life lately?
Sexy Read:
To my Inner Catholic Girl readers: I curled up at the cabin last weekend with John Groban’s (author of Marley and Me) memoir, The Longest Trip Home. Great book. I loved reading about his Inner Catholic Boy. Thanks for the recommendation, Muzz.
Follow the energy.
I had called my older sister looking for guidance. A sexy whitewater kayaker was attending my yoga classes and fantasies of him were keeping me up at night. But I’d just extricated myself from a complicated long-term relationship and it seemed rather insane to jump right back into something new.
But I took her advice and dove in heart first.
I just had my eight-year wedding anniversary with that sexy kayaker. As a gift I gave him a printed, bound copy of my mostly erotic somewhat spiritual memoir of our marriage. It’s thirty-five essays in manuscript format. It's got a title page, a quote, a foreward and even a table of contents.
It’s done. (For now anyway. The sexy adventures will never end with that man.)
I should be elated, celebrating and moving boldly forward with publishing, right?
Unfortunately, that energy isn’t around to follow.
Instead I’ve been tucked into my high-country nest feeling rather uninspired about the realities of creating a writing career in the current publishing climate. I have a stack of materials from my latest writer’s conference and I know what I need to do next. I just can’t find the mojo to do it.
One of my writing friends pointed out that I’d just birthed a big creative project.
“You’re post partum,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
So I've been wondering, does that mean I get six weeks of creative maternity leave on this project?
Because where the energy is beckoning lately is towards a leather portfolio I unpacked last week. It's the draft of the erotic romance novel I was working on ten years ago when my man showed up, a mindblowing manifestation of the sexy qualities of both my male leads blended into one.
I think I'll take that dusty old draft to the cabin this weekend and see what happens.
Are you following the energy in your life lately?
Sexy Read:
To my Inner Catholic Girl readers: I curled up at the cabin last weekend with John Groban’s (author of Marley and Me) memoir, The Longest Trip Home. Great book. I loved reading about his Inner Catholic Boy. Thanks for the recommendation, Muzz.
RSS Feed