Dear Stacking Lead Pencil and Fancy Notebook I Got for Christmas in ’85 or ’86,
There is a feeling of sitting down with paper and pencil that is ripe and full and sweet – it is mostly promise, I think, that heady mix of hope and possibility that is a blank page. I still find that feeling often. Even just making a grocery list. A letter. An idea for a story. But what I’m missing, what I’ve been missing for 30 years, is that last percentage: belief. Certainty. Love of the story I’ve sat down to write.
I felt it when I sat with you two on the couch in the living room. The lead was so sharp! The paper so smooth. Then I was sitting down to write a story about a girl who rides a unicorn. Now I’ve decided I should be writing more serious things. I have many pencils and pens. Markers. A shed-load of notebooks. But the belief ebbed away a long time ago.
Working on getting it back.
Miss you,
-e.