A few years back, I struggled getting words on paper. I have kept a journal regularly since I was about eleven, but those were my words for my eyes only. When I thought about writing words for others to read, the words stuck in my throat, the pen wouldn't move across the page, my fingers sat silent on the keyboard. I vividly remember the day at Chautauqua listening to Patricia Lee Gauch when something in my writer's heart broke open, and words began to flow out. Patti, bless her, took my hand and said, "It's permission."
Consent. Approval. License to act.
These are important attitudes or actions, and lovely when they come from others. But permission to write comes from within.
Most recently I have wrestled with giving myself permission not to write. It's a crazy switch to be sure, but once I got the words turned on, I found myself feeling responsible to keep the flow going.
Several of the wonderful blogs I enjoy reading posted their plans to take a break during the month of August. I should have done the same thing, but I kept thinking I would get to it. You can see that I haven't. And I'm finding that I must give myself permission for that to be okay in this season.
I'm going to need a few more weeks to get through this busy season, but then I'll get back to posting regularly.
Permission. Oh, so important.