Start with Seventeen Syllables. End with a Book.

As much as I’ve hated the isolation imposed by Covid-19 restrictions, I did finish my first book this past year, “Tea With Dad: Finding Myself in My Father’s Life.” It’s been edited, copy edited (still I see things that need tweaking), will be in the hands of reviewers early next month, and now I’m in what I call the BFB stage (begging for blurbs for the back cover). It’s hard to remember the twenty-year dry spell when I could only write emails, memos, or pieces related to work. Writing for money. But there was.

After many attempts at resuscitating my muse, I found inspiration by accident. I began to take my phone and a cup of tea outside. I’d walk around, sipping tea, smelling the flowers, staring at a patch of color in the lawn — a lone wild violet or instance — startling the wildlife, and taking photos with my camera.

I started to have feelings. Words started to come to me. I set a goal. Write haiku. “I can come up with seventeen syllables.” That was my goal: put together seventeen syllables every day—just one set of seventeen syllables. I couldn’t come up with seventeen syllables all the time, but I just continued to give myself the gift of quiet, solitary moments and waited. If the words didn’t come, I didn’t mind. It was only a goal. No one was going to bleed or die if I didn’t write haiku that day.

Soon I had over 400 haiku. Some good. Some bad. Some pretty amazing. Whether you write, paint, crochet, scrapbook… it’s simpler than you think to set aside time and move toward creating. It was simple to do. I just decided. Decide.

Give yourself time. Sit, walk, stare… be present and open to what you see and hear. The thoughts and words will come. They’re in there. They need you to make way for them.