A New Book

A friend sends me the first draft to his book and I am thrilled. My biggest decision? Do I gobble it up now, or wait and have it printed out in hard copy so I can lounge in my reading chair, drinking tea and indulging myself?

Of course I can take the computer to the chair too, but long standing habit prefers the comfort of tradition and my traditions are still rooted in paper.

I know I can't wait. I have already devoured the first five pages just because I downloaded it. So, I retreat to my corner and settle in.

It is awesome, a delightful look into the way another mind spews out words and I am so honored to be a part of him.

Then those little black thoughts come creeping out and I begin to compare our writing and feel the differences so keenly. Mine seemingly so much less, that perhaps, I think, I should stop now, not even subject the world to it when there are alternatives like this one.

And even as I type these words I know I will not. Will not because, first of all, my friend would not want that to be a result of his newest child, but also because I know we are all different and it is our differences that we must honor. The rest will take care of
themselves.

The more I honor my uniqueness, the clearer the window I am becomes. It is what I am here for, after all. To be me, to allow the light to shine through me and come out on the other side a different reflection. A way of writing and being that might speak to someone else.

Who knows, it might even speak to me.