Every time I begin a new piece, I forget how to write.
To remember the process, I read work I’ve put away or published to find my way back into a world of words, sentences, paragraphs, stories.
It’s never easy because experience is useless in front of a blank page.
Repetition has made me a faster typist, a better speller, more alert to punctuation errors and weak verbs.
I enjoy editing.
Not so with the first draft of writing.
I’m miserable in the beginning and downright joyous for an hour or so at the end.
Until fear calls to tell me I’m washed up.
And then I start over.
With a word.