Today I had that blissful experience of entirely shutting my inner critic down and just writing, just letting the words flow from my brain to my fingers to the keys to the screen. God, I love that, and it’s been way too long. Here’s a passage:
The holdouts wouldn’t bring things with them anymore. No flowers, no balloons, no copies of the latest schlock to make it to the top of the New York Times bestseller’s list. Nothing but themselves. They didn’t even bring the cheerfulness, happiness, optimism, that was so common in those first days, maybe that first week. Such things were ultimately too heavy to drag around for the long term, and the holdouts shed them, carrying instead the things that clung without much conscious effort: sadness, worry, resignation.