Writing remains a luxury, self-indulgence. It is easy to notice the lack of clean underwear, staples in the fridge, or air in our tires. These are noticeable not only to us, but to those with whom we share a home, car, and life.
Some time ago, I found a compelling passage in a small-in-size-huge-in-impact book called TRUE LOVE, A Practice for Awakening the Heart by the Buddhist monk and teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh.
I first heard of Nanowrimo from the teen writers who came every Thursday afternoon to cozy up in my living room with the peach colored walls. The girls told me that Nanowrimo stands for National Novel Writing Month and happens every November.
