As we move towards December, when the end of another year will be within touching distance, I’m again feeling that time marches on faster and faster and faster. I once met someone who claimed to know the secret to slowing things down. Make a cup of tea, they said. That was it, no elaboration, and I didn’t probe. I think I see where they might have been coming from. Like the watched pot never boiling, the carefully crafted and considered cuppa never cools. Maybe.
Anyway, with time at a premium, this September post from Margaret McCaffrey seems particularly apt. Five minutes to write a book. Tell us more, Margaret. Oh, hang on, does that asterisk point the way to a disclaimer? No, apparently not, it’s marking a shout-out to the film that suggested the title for the blog post. I’m going to make a cup of coffee (I don’t like tea) and dive into the post and learn the secret to writing that five-minute book.
Nevertheless, for a few glorious moments in my quest for sightedness, I’d experienced that rare writerly feeling of accomplishment. And it had all been so easy.
Happy reading and writing and tea or coffee drinking. Or whatever your poison is.
EW




