Day Fifteen

I've been thinking about how writing my 100 days is like a long walk.

On day one I felt that first joy, that singing in your step that comes from starting something.

The next three days hurt. I would have found any reason to turn back, and every word was hard, like stones in your shoes and holes in your boots and brooding clouds on your horizon.

Then something changed, a wide yellow tipped field opened before me and I was half way across without even realising. If I was a runner I would say I had gone through a pain barrier or that I had found my stride. But I'm not a runner, I'm a writer, so I will say that I went through my first dark forest of shadows and doubts and disbelief and came out the other side; that I found the first notes of my voice.

And then it changes again. A cloud crosses the sun on day fourteen and suddenly I'm self conscious, aware of my bare arms prickling with goose bumps, unsure of the path.

My 100 day walk will be like that all the way of course. Thankfully. What is important is to keep putting one foot in front of the other, one word after the other.