Beginning is always the hardest part, isn't it? I pulled out my copy this morning and flipped through the pages, some writing prompts, a page for four letter words (The Kid was delighted with this one), burn this page (what?), lick this page (huh?). My palms were suddenly sweaty and I wondered what in the world I'd gotten myself into.
I am not one of those pristine book kind of people. I write in the margins. I eat toast while I'm reading, sometimes propping the book open with the butter dish. Open almost any book on my shelf and some sand might fall out, or sawdust, or crumbs, or blades of grass, so I'm not hung up on the concept of "defacing" a book. I am a little intimidated by some of the brilliant, arty women who are participating in this book group.
But I want to play. I want to get out there. I want to be brave and silly and stretch.
I put the book down and went into the kitchen. Slicing strawberries, I came across one that was mushy and shaped a little like a cloud. I used it as a stamp to decorate my title page.
Baby steps.




