Raven, who came by five weeks ago to tell me to play, has come to Camp Nanowrimo with me. He is whispering in my ear right now. Say yes, he says and dips his head up and down, Give yourself permission.
I have been writing steadily since before last summer. First my book draft, then the blog, now the book revision and blog at the same time. I am writing. I am a Writer. Really, I have been writing stories since Grade Three. But apparently I have not actually given myself permission to be a Writer.
I didn’t know that. I thought if I was doing this, permission was implied. Not, according to Raven.
My family and friends all know what I am doing and creating. I have their steady support and interest.
Not that I asked for it or needed to ask for it, but I have full permission from the Universe, from Source. I experience it every day in the gifts that come my way. Time, resources, inspiration, support, response to what I create.
So I have permission from all except myself.
I love to write, draw, create. It is joy and play to me. It is my work.
Some old pattern in me thinks that joy and play cannot mix with work. Work has to be serious. Work has to be hard. Work is not to be enjoyed.
Well, I say crap to that. I am making a different choice and creating a new pattern for myself.
I choose that my writing is my work. I choose that my work is play. I choose to keep writing and playing with love and joy and passion. I give myself full permission to write, to play with my writing, to love my writing, to enjoy my writing.
This is my place in the world, at my work table in my studio. Paper, pens, laptop. Head, heart, words. The view out my window. This is permission. I am a Writer.
I have all I need.
Mentioned in this post:
Camp Nanowrimo http://campnanowrimo.org