I accepted the challenge.

And so it begins: a new journey, new venture—one that the twinges inside me hint may also be a new adventure.

I have committed to publishing a new blog post each day of this bright new February.

I’m dressed in my work clothes, all ready to proceed. Which consist of…

1 flannel night gown

1 denim-ish “popover” with neck that can zip all the way to my chin if I like, “popped over” nightgown (as has been all night, this night, for it’s arctic-ly cold around here right now)

1 large, snuggly fake-fur robe, full-length, flowing to the floor to warm my legs, even my ankles,

although for this arctic season I have also pulled on…

1 pair extra long knee socks

1 pair hand-spun, hand-knit [both by my own hands] thick socks of 100% wool [shorn from our sheep when we had sheep a-grazing on the Funny Farm meadows], also naturally hand-dyed three colors

1 pair packable slippers, stretchy enough to fit over the other two layers. And…

1 pair heavy denim, relaxed-fit black jeans (because those thin leggings and skinny jeans just don’t keep you warm, people!)

Also today, an unusual adornment: 1 soft, light knit cap, fashioned for outdoor wear, but needful right now indoors, over my short-haired head.

Now if I only had a nose mitten, I’d be totally set. But that’s okay. At my right hand sits a mug of steaming coffee, brewed a bit strong—accidentally because my cupboard’s only ground beans were too fine for my French press; there’s probably lots of sediment at the bottom of that mug. (“More to wake you up with, girl”). I lift said mug to my face and the steam warms my cold little nose.

Apart from the extra layers, this is my usual work garb.

The “work”? Writing. (Although when you love what you’re doing, is it work?)

Anyhow, I’m ready to go!

And it’s time!

My time.

Wee small hour. Three AM

Mine.

Mine because it’s still, and no one disturbs my efforts.

Still because night owls have by now tumbled into deep sleep, and early birds are yet to lift their wings and morning voices to the silvering dawn.

Still. Ah, how lovely and still!

So, in place:

Main character – quirky writer. Check!

Usual but agumented costumes. Check!

Setting? Small alcove in a living room. Wobbly antique folding table manufactured for turn-of-the-century seamstresses— (nineteenth century into the twentieth, that is). Antique Hitchcock-type chair pulled up before said table because it happens to be comfortable for long stints of word flow. On table: (quite an achronism!) computer laptop, open and alight in anticipation of writer’s keyboard tickling.

Lighting: All the lights in the room, this morning anyhow. Sometimes I sit here in a little spotlit circle of rays from a single lamp. But this morning I rebelliously turned up the power to tell myself sternly, “It may still be night to other folk, lady, but this is day to you: So wake up, and charge forward into the journey you’ve committed to. No turning back, no matter what weird turns the path ahead may take (and I have a feeling it just might bend into “weird” new territory)!

One correction about the lighting, however: Not quite all the lights are turned on. On this antique table sits another achronism: my Ott light, stationed on duty, ready to illumine whatever I might prop open on my wrought-iron bookstand, fashioned from an antique heat vent grate.

All systems: go? Check!

And at this point I reach my first day’s word limit of six hundred words.

So, tomorrow, I’ll post what my fingers will tattoo out between now and then:: a response to an old, unpublished prompt word… “One.”

*****

For a set of links to all the other posts in this “Meandering Forward” series, go to this page, which will be updated daily as new posts appear in the blog content.