In the Beginning, There Was Light 

6:45 am 

Jack Johnson’s voice eases its way into my consciousness serenading me awake. Turning over, I trace my hands over  my man’s strong, broad back, and slip out of bed. 

Switching on the soft light of the Hymalian salt lamp, I light the burner for coffee. As the Bialetti boils the bitter grounds, I make my way to the big, red couch to catch up on yesterday’s news: The Daily Show or The Colbert Report (America’s most reliable news sources). 

7:00 am

“I’m going to start my book today,” I say to Stephen Colbert or whomever is delivering my news that morning. 

“Are you?” His eyes seem to say. 

“Yes.” 

“Ok. What’s it about? What’s your story?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” I reply. 

7:03 am

Bitter smells of boiled coffee reach my nose. I pour a steaming cup and open the laptop and begin typing.

My Perfect Day…. 

Sitting at my desk I stare at the blank screen contemplating the statement. 

7:05 am 

My Perfect Day…. 

7:10 am

My Perfect Day…. 

7:11 am

My husband makes an appearance. He’s smelled the coffee and senses my writer’s block. Pouring himself a cup he passively notes the news and shifts his gaze to me. 

“Stuck?” He asks. 

I nod. 

“How about a quick breakfast at the bagel shop and we take the dog to the beach? Maybe after we can hit up that museum of modern art you’ve wanted to see?” He beamed encouragingly. 

“I can’t. I promised John Stewart I’d start my book today.” 

“Ah ha. Well, I’m pretty sure John Stewart won’t mind if we go to the beach first. Maybe you’ll be struck by some inspiration. C’mon. Get Your shoes on.” 

7:45 am 

Everything bagels piled high with cream cheese, steaming coffee in take away mugs, Birkenstocks and jeans, one very excited Goldendoodle, and a gorgeous husband at my side we load into the Suburu Outback and head for the beach. 

9:00am 

Watching my soaked puppy and spry husband play in the waves, I whip out my notebook and start to write:  

In the beginning there was light, and that light was an idea. A seed of a story waiting to be exposed. It burned bright, piercing the eye of anyone who looked directly at it. This light was a portal into the mind of the writer. A gateway into the deep recesses of memory. 

One day, the light grew brighter and started to grow…

This blog post is in response to Natalie’s 10 Day Freedom Plan Blog Challenge Day 3

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