I’m out of practice in this thing called life. While at the RWW residency, I lost track of place and time. When my sister picked me up (I was only a thirty minute drive from home), she said she hadn’t realized I was so close, that it’d felt like I was clear across the continent. I’d felt that way too. At times this was inspiring and uplifting, at times I felt too vulnerable and exposed. I’m home now, slowly shuffling around the house, placing things where I had expected them to be when I returned, taking the things from my suitcase and placing them where I think they belong. I’m settling in to write, though I’m a bit wary of where to begin. I guess I began this morning, shuffling about the house musing over the various reasons why it is I persist in writing.
Here’s the first paragraph of James Salton’s essay “Some for the Glory, Some for the Praise”:
“To write! What a marvelous thing! When he was old and forgotten, living in a rundown house in the dreary suburbs of Paris, Léautaud wrote these lines. He was unmarried, childless, alone. The world of the theater in which he had worked as a critic for years was now dark for him, but from the ruins of his life these words rose. To write!”
Why do you write?

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Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone