In the past few months, I’ve been focusing on my reading. That is why I’ve been absent from “Writing Practices.”

In the New Year, I want to visit “Writing Practices” at least twice a month. I will share inspiring quotes, write my thoughts about writing, and maybe revisiting some of the memes that I really would like to participate in.

I’ve been thinking about why I want to write. In some respects, I feel like I’m really meant to be a reader. I am so impressed with the power that others have behind their words. The more I read, the more I want to keep reading, and the more I feel I will never be able to command language as do others.

In The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, one task for the budding artist/writer was to go a week without reading: that way, you are open to your own creativity. But I don’t want to do that. Not yet. I am so in love with reading at this point in my life that I don’t want to let go of it. Reading - both fiction and nonfiction - inspires me and helps me expand my mind.

I know writing would do the same for me: I just must do it in order to experience that creativity.

I want to be more balanced in my life overall, by reading, by writing, by cooking, and by working on my photography. I’d love for you to follow along with my progress, although don’t be surprised if my reading blog remains the most active 2009.

The artist’s language is a sensual one, a language of felt experience. When we work at our art, we dip into the well of our experience and scoop out images.

Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way, 21

• Stop telling yourself, “It’s too late.”
• Stop waiting until you make enough money to do something you’d really love.
• Stop telling yourself, “It’s just my ego” whenever you yearn for a more creative life.
• Stop telling yourself that dreams don’t matter, that they are only dreams and that you should be more sensible.
• Stop fearing that your family and friends would think you crazy.
• Stop telling yourself that creativity is a luxury and that you should be grateful for what you’ve got.

Julia Cameron, in The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity, page 7

I’ve been moving, among other things, for the few of you who check this page and have been wondering. In the coming weeks, I’m going to be reading Julia Cameron’s book. I’m going to try to let go of my fears in the process. I don’t intend to post my responses to her writing prompts on this site, but we’ll see!

Every recess, my best friend and I ran to The Tree at the back of the playground. We circled it three times and entered our world. Sometimes we escaped a spider’s web. Other times we traveled a tight rope in a circus. We went somewhere together, as long as we walked around that tree.

In the summer, we met in the middle of our street with our bicycles: her bike was red and mine was blue. As soon as we got on them, though, we were no longer school girls but “cops and robbers” or “Gold Medal winners.” As long as we stayed on our bicycles, we went somewhere.

When my friend wasn’t available, my brother and I opened our basement door and walked down. When we reached the third step, we entered Ijona (“ee-john-a”), a world beyond the solar system where my brother was King (I think) and “table” meant “chair.” Sometimes, by the third step, waves would splash our toes. Other times, we searched for the exit in a three-story castle, facing all sorts of challenges on our way. We went somewhere, as long as we reached the third step.

Somehow, though, my worlds—our worlds—disappeared. I learned to drive. I went to college. I got married. I moved 16,000 miles (literally—I moved from Chicago to Australia).

I was going places in life.

And yet, as an adult, I no longer go anywhere. Three steps into the basement only take me three steps down.

I didn’t realize I was missing it.

Last week, my eight-month-old found his reflection in a three-inch metal fixture on his bathtub. One moment he was splashing by himself: the next minute another bald baby was laughing with him.

He was fascinated by the baby. I watched as he leaned forward and tried to push his yellow sailboat through to that other world: the other baby tried to share his yellow sailboat at the same time, and they were unable to share. No matter: my son was happy to giggle together.

Now, every time I put him in the bathtub, I think about his reflection-friend. Will he remember? Will he seek out that magical world that is just waiting to delight him? He’s just now entering a world of infinite creativity.

My days of going places may be past, but now I get to experience a world of creativity through my child. I’m so excited to watch him go places I can now only imagine.

To my son, my daily delight

(True response to June Write-Away Contest “Going Places” at Scribbit.)