It's an absolutely beautiful morning. We have had nothing but rain for a month and then yesterday it was 90 degrees. So I went outside and sat on the deck for a few minutes and watched the sun come up. It's a perfect 65 out there right now with a slight breeze.
A few years ago I went to a fortune teller at a renaissance festival with a friend for a lark. She told me the usual stuff they get from assessing who you are by looking at you. But she also told me that I would write a book when I was in my 40's. We joked about what a great author I would be and then I never gave it much more thought.
As I was sitting there this morning, it almost seemed as if the trees were whispering to me that I should indeed write a book. It's a silly thought and I am not sure where it came from so abruptly. My sentence structure is terrible. If you read my blog at all, then you know I have the worst run on sentences ever. I leave my participles dangling in the wind, and my syntax is all over the place.
Even if I did write a book, I don't know what I would write about. They say you should write about what you know, but I know about entirely too much. What story do I have inside me that needs to get out? Would it be a work of fiction, or maybe a self help book? I am not sure I am really qualified to help anyone despite the unwanted advice I tend to dispense. Maybe I would write something on making bears or art. I don't know if anyone would even want to read something I wrote.
Still though...the seed was planted with the leaves blowing in the gentle breeze of a perfect morning.