1 hour

My back is never straight when I sit, especially when I sit at this desk. There’s this pose that I call, “Getting ready to get up again and do something else.” Answer the door for the food I just ordered or get the clothes from the washing machine that just beeped. Perhaps get a snack or add some ice to my water cup. My left leg is slightly pointing to the left, instead of facing the wall behind this desk. A zero-commitment posture, for sure.

Tonight I push my chair in, lock both legs by placing my right foot on the back of my left ankle. Back is straight, both arms free and available, phone in the drawer, silent. This posture is one of discipline, even when I have no idea what I’ll write. I just know that it’s been too many days, and too many ignored reminders.

Feelings. That’s the first word that comes to mind as I start this paragraph. So, I’ll throw in this story and see where it leads.

Last week, we finished reading a very emotional and controversial read aloud in class. One that ends with the sudden death of a beloved dog and the idea of a potential happy ending, but an ending we’re not sure the main character and his grandfather actually get. As with every emotional book I read to students, tears joined that last read, with shared anguish and many questions. A few days later, some of them asked for copies of the book to reread it. My first thought was, “I would do the same thing. Read it on my own, doing my thinking alone.” I smiled under the mask and handed out two copies.

This morning, one of the boys came to me and asked, “Is this book like ‘Freddy,’ are there more?” English isn’t his first language, so I paraphrased his question, “Do you mean, part of a series? Sadly no, that’s the only one. Why do you ask?” He responded with another question, “So how do I know what happens next? It’s so sad. Searchlight died.” At that moment, I felt grateful for this learning moment and talked with him about the great potential in endings like this one.

One of the reasons [I think] I wanted to share this story is because of how it validated the strong connection between books and understanding feelings. Recently, I’ve been reading about empathy and how to support children in becoming empathetic people. One of the chapters in this book describes the impact of reading fiction and picture books to help children develop emotional literacy and identify such feelings in others. There’s another reason, though, one that just popped out nowhere as I wrote and reread these lines. Well, not really. It’s kind of obvious if I am honest with myself. The eagerness in the boy’s request made me dwell on this topic because I’ve been flirting with the idea of writing stories for children for quite a while.

Now, huge personal disclaimer, I can be a mean flirt. When I was single, it was just a game. So, when I flirt with ideas now, I see myself as a 20-year-old all over again—making eyes at huge dreams I have. Dreams that look so sexy and desirable, but too far to make an effort. So far, I don’t even feel it’s right to put them into words right here.

The feelings that boy experienced when I read that story to him, and felt again when he read the book a second time, that’s why the flirting annoys me. Because the idea of just one child connecting to a character and learning about something meaningful is worth growing up for, mostly because what else am I left with? More blog entries like this one filled with excuses and the self-imposed shame for not writing consistently? A ridiculous back and forth to get things going just to spend three more weeks without writing a single word. Silly flirting.

Rereading what I’ve written here so far makes me pause, breathe deeply, and try to come up with an ending that isn’t just another fake goal I set for myself. I will admit, though, that writing like this tonight makes me hopeful. I didn’t follow my usual routine of having a glass of wine, choosing a specific playlist, and writing on a Google Doc first just to avoid the “Publish” button staring back at me with that judgmental but lovely shade of blue. Instead, tonight I went straight to the dashboard, skipped the full “Draft” section, and began to share thoughts out loud. The plan was simply to write and post something and in an hour, just like that guy once said.

Will I commit to writing another story for children later? Who knows. What I know is that I can go to bed now feeling good about writing something tonight, and that’s enough for now.