I can’t imagine attempting to complete an entire first draft, sixty to a hundred thousand words, by hand. I feel a cramp developing just thinking about it. Then there is my speed, which I would need to slow dramatically to make it legible. I have combined printing with cursive, creating my unique format, which allows me to read my thoughts later.

The joy of using the keyboard is in my proficiency. With touch-typing skills, my fingers fly at a pace fast enough for me to transcribe the concepts pouring from my head. Thankfully, my laptop is portable, and I can drag it from my desk to my oversized leather chair positions next to the wood-burning fireplace.

However, I refuse to move one exercise to a digital format. Filling in my calendar is a manual process. Every Sunday, I sit with my planner and record each assignment, schedule my writing sessions, and slotting in the things I must accomplish to hit my deadlines. I write out shopping lists, random thoughts, and questions I don’t want to forget.

Each hour’s line receives a stroke from my favorite pen. It is a ritual I look forward to and won’t abandon. It is relaxing, and it etches my commitments into my brain. The process works so well I remember what I am supposed to be doing without my book.

What things do you write by hand?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

This afternoon, the mailman delivered a package, one that I have been both dreading and anticipating. Tucked inside is the promise of beauty. Three years ago, I planted 300 tulip bulbs in my front garden bed and waited for spring. They rewarded me with a spectacular show that took my breath away and garnered the neighbor’s comments.

There are tricks to growing tulips in my zone, as they don’t naturalize easily. Those methods require enjoying the flowers, letting the foliage dieback, and then lifting the bulbs from the ground. You must wash, dry, and store any undamaged bulbs in a cool place with low humidity until it is time to plant them again in the fall. The process helps to ensure the bulb’s health and encourages vigorous spring flowering.

I follow a different course. I elect to let the bulbs remain in situ. The result is fewer annual blooms. This year, a sprinkling of tulips raised their heads, but the showing was unacceptable. I will dig 300 six-inch-deep holes, sprinkle in a bit of fertilizer, add the bulb, tamp it in and move to the next. It is backbreaking toil that won’t produce results until late April.

What are you planting today?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Fall is the only season when I need not gather bouquets for myself.  Instead, Mother Nature collects them for me. Yesterday, the daily offerings began. Running late, as usual, I rushed to my car, slipped behind the steering wheel, tossed my bag on the passenger seat, strapped on my seatbelt, and put my key in the ignition. Ready to go, I glanced through the windshield and paused. Staring at me was a sea of tiny, shining treasures.

The sunburst locust is the first to don her beautiful foliage and begin my new morning ritual. As days shorten, other gems will greet me each morning. Red maple, sugar maple, river birch, beech, and sweet gum, will each cover my car. Today’s spectacular leaflets make me smile, and I back onto the street with care. I don’t want to disturb them too soon. What comes next is the adult version of flying through the yard and diving into a humongous pile raked from the leaf-strewn lawn.

I shift into drive and stomp on the gas pedal. A golden veil trails behind me, dancing on a slipstream. They become my magical tail, and I know it is going to be a wonderful day.

What is your favorite fall activity?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I knew I was biting off more than I could chew, but I did it anyway. By nature, I am optimistic, confident in my abilities, and a confirmed workaholic. I routinely accomplish more than most people. Others have chided me warning me to slow down, so I don’t make them look bad. On Sunday evening, when I complete my weekly calendar, I ignored the sweet little cherub who begged me to exercise caution. My pen coaxed my fingers to run amok, and they gleefully filled in every hour of every day. When they finished, I had five days scheduled back to back, morning, noon, and night. For good measure, I added additional jobs in the margins.

Surprise, I didn’t get everything done. Repotting my plants, finding the correct replacement part for the broken oven ignitor, and installing the new kitchen garbage/recycling system are outstanding items. For several undertakings, I am waiting on, ahem, someone else to supply the requested information. I love highlighting the completed tasks. This week the color is an obnoxious neon pink. Looking at my planner, you would assume I must have sat eating bonbons yesterday, but my sore muscles would tell you otherwise.

I want nothing more than a quiet weekend of sleeping late, enjoying a great cup of coffee, and reading a delightful book. Another voice reminds me I hate transferring uncompleted projects onto next week’s schedule. I know which side will win. This Sunday, the first task on my list is to rein in my gremlin.

What’s on your weekend agenda?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Everyone thinks spring is a busy time for Mother Nature and her gardening friends. I find fall is a much more demanding season. There are seeds to harvest, sort, and save, debris and dead vegetation to clear, compost piles to turn, vacationing house plants to move indoors, and cold-tolerant vegetables to pick and store. Trees and shrubs planted now establish strong roots, and there are hundreds of tulip bulbs to bury in their loamy beds. There are hoses to drain, birdbaths to winterize, fallen leaves to rake, and firewood to cut and stack.

As I perform all these tasks, I remember what worked well in the yard this year. I analyze areas that could use improvement and formulate ideas for fresh garden features as the earth’s fertile fields settle in for a bedtime story, ready for a deep winter’s sleep. There will be blowing snow, icy gales, and long winter evenings huddled in front of a roaring fire, to consider what may be.

Potential lies dormant in seeds, bulbs, soil, and our creativity. October is ripe for productivity and is suited to making changes and creating and completing projects. Autumn winds sweep aside distractions, revealing bare bones and underlying structures. The crisp air encourages movement for warmth, and the need to prepare for cold, lean times energizes us. Mother Nature’s gusty breezes impart a sense of urgency as we clean away the old and imagine unlimited possibilities. 

What opportunities do you see?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

We waste precious time and energy worrying about events that never happen, opinions that don’t matter, approvals we don’t need. Our imagined fears are a dog pile of a thousand tiny terrors and a hoard of gargantuan doubts. They stop us before we begin. We must confront our paper tigers, name them for what they are if we want to succeed.

Fear is a mechanism that evolved to keep us safe. But Saber-toothed tigers and Mastodons became extinct ten thousand years ago. To move forward, we need to determine if our concerns have any validity. What would happen if our worst thought stood manifest before us? When we consider them, most worries are dismissible, while a handful may require mitigation. Then we are free to grab our heart’s desire and prepare for an amazing ride.

Is fear stopping you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

This year has not gone to plan. The unexpected backward jerk, the forceful forward jolt, followed by a sudden stop, reminds me of when another driver rear-ended me. Whiplash, the doctor said. The accident extended my muscles and ligaments beyond their normal range of motion. Immediately after the collision, I didn’t feel too bad. Then the pain and stiffness began, accompanied by headaches, dizziness, and difficulty focusing. The worst part was how tired I was, regardless of how long I slept.

In January, I had charted a well-worn track. It was tested, proven, and guaranteed to end with my goals completed. For the first time, my formula hasn’t worked. I tweaked and adjusted, prodded and probed, and as the familiar saying goes, I kept beating a dead horse, expecting a miracle. My reward culminated with extreme self-doubt and desperation. At last, I tossed my old ways aside and opted to forge an alternative path.

Going off-trail has made me painfully aware of my need to stay oriented. I am mindful of keeping my bearings, determining my precise position, and checking for obstacles that might complicate a straight-ahead course. While my progress has been slower than expected, I have discovered a delightful mosaic of unseen places and glimpses into wondrous and unfamiliar worlds. I’m blazing through an unexplored landscape, and it seems to be just what the doctor ordered.

What course corrections are you exploring?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

When we first start a new endeavor, our ultimate success or failure is often even odds. Tipping the scales in our favor comes when we apply our best effort towards our goal. A dogged determination helps us conquer setbacks and challenges, and an optimistic attitude keeps our spirits lifted.

If we are fortunate, inspiration arrives when we flounder, and mentors who have traveled a similar pathway offer guidance and insight as we take the journey along our chosen path. Setting and striving for a goal is noble.  Keeping our intentions focused like a laser beam is a herculean task. No mere human can help but fail. The objective is not to attain perfection, and we are kidding ourselves if we believe we will not encounter difficulties.

The reward is in attaining incremental improvements every day. Success lives within us when we rise after each defeat. Those small daily, hourly, and minute by minute victories build confidence.  We won’t have to wonder, “what if I had tried just one more time?” In life, nobody applauds the make or break decisions that define genuine achievement. Look around and congratulate yourself on the phenomenal progress you made today.

How will you celebrate your best today?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The chilly Sunday dawn dances with a magical quality. Bright red cardinals compete for fat sunflower seeds. Red-winged blackbirds, chickadees, goldfinches, and a downy woodpecker flit between the feeder and the evergreens. Squirrels chase each other through the yard, fighting over every titbit, they remain oblivious to the hawk floating in lazy circles in the crystal blue sky. It may not be Walden, but it is my slice of nature carved from a suburban landscape.  

A frosty mist clings to the ground, laying heavy on autumn air, as the weakening sun promises to hold off the rain and warm the day. The fresh morning brims with pledges of freezing rain, a snowy winter, and long nights in front of the fire. A deep breath, a hot cup of coffee, and a soft breeze erases worry and clears the mind. At last, the ideas flow.  

How do you spend your Sunday mornings?

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Keep on writing. Jo Hawk The Writer

Leave it to the chattering voices droning in my head. They destroyed a perfectly wonderful plan, a plan filled with rest, relaxation, and fun. No writing, no lists, no alarm clocks, no worries. Morning coffee, a deep breath, I barely had a chance to exhale. The voices saw an opening and jumped.

“Hello?” they said. “You’ve had your coffee? Awake? Feeling rested?  You’re always saying you’re busy and that you don’t have time. We see you’re not busy right now. Is it a good time? Nothing major. A few words, perhaps?”

Can you say “Guilt” with a capital “G?” Well played voices. How can I say no? Yeah, okay, a few words. They are a sneaky bunch. You must watch them, anticipate their subterfuge. A few words, then a few words more, became filled pages. Devious, they are. They artfully derailed my plans, advanced their agendas, and made sure I had a fun day.

Do your voices interrupt your plans?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer