As November draws to a close, so does my reading time. I still have a few books left to read before I begin writing, but already I can feel the gears shifting in my head from being a reader to being a writer. While I enjoy each book, there’s a part of my brain analyzing it and picking it apart.

I hate that.

I just want to read, like I did before I started writing. So I stomp the thought down and then I begin to wonder if I’m sabotaging my own writing. That one day, my creative self with have a tiff and no longer talk to me.

That someone will capture my story fairy while he’s on vacation, clip his wings and stuff in him a cage so that he’ll feed them stories and ignore me. Kinda obvious that I have a rather big imagination, isn’t it?

I know enough about my story fairy to know that he won’t desert me and that’s he’s clever enough to slip through any trap another writer might set.

But still, I’ve taken a month off of writing and two off of creating (Edits for one month) so I am concerned that I’ve lost my mojo. And then I feel it. That strum of fingers across the folds in my brain and the sparks of glitter marking the birth of characters. You see, I’ve submitted a thought to my story fairy. I want one short story and one long story that are related and already he is back at work, or at least checking his email.

And while, my story fairy and I have a hard time thinking small and simple, there’s a shimmer in my gut that says, this time we’re going on an outstanding adventure.

8 more days.

Christmas will come early this year!