This is the second year my daughter-in-law gave me an amaryllis for Christmas. Maybe you got one too. They come all packaged up in a pretty box—a disk of potting soil, a large amaryllis bulb and a pot to grow it in.
I followed the directions on the box, soaked the potting soil in water until it filled the pot then planted the bulb, pointy side down, and set the pot on my kitchen table where, each morning, I sit with my coffee and my notebooks and write.
Yesterday I took a nap.
OK that’s a lie. Yesterday I took two naps. One shortly after breakfast and one in the afternoon. Altogether I probably napped close to an hour, maybe more. I wasn’t timing myself or limiting the nap time by setting an alarm. I just arranged the pillows on the sofa, covered myself with the throw, let out an audible sigh, and closed my eyes. Each time when I woke up, I felt better.
In some of my books about writing I quote well-known writers on why they write. For example, in The Lively Muse Daily Appointment Calendar for Writers, I quote Carlos Fuentes:
“One wants to tell a story like Scheherazade, in order not to die. It’s one of the oldest urges of mankind It’s a way of stalling death.”