Back in my working life, Monday used to be one of those days that felt like a penance.

Now? Monday feels like a big fat fresh start…a chance to do it up right. What that ‘it’ is, I have no idea, though I think it falls along the lines of writing the next perfect sentence, while feeling like the words are stacking up like proper little text bricks that will build a solid foundation for what’s to come next. 

The best part is that I’m no longer setting the timer for an hour, because an hour just isn’t long enough. I finally feel like I’m getting somewhere though I still have no idea of where that destination is.

I don’t know who the following quote is attributed to, but I’ve heard so many variations on this, and I know it’s true,

“Thinking is not writing but writing is a concentrated form of thinking.”

From my own experience I have found that if I just think about the writing, it is simply a torment, and nothing actually happens.

However, when I’m actually writing, my thoughts have to be pulled down out of the ether to make the proper shape on the page. Then they have to stand solid with deep, wild roots and branches that reach high up into the sky.

Eventually birds will find a haven in those branches and clouds will sigh and settle into their arms. And somehow,  I will have built something that only moments before had not existed.

How could you not like a Monday that allowed something like that to happen?