on bread and writing…


I make bread
all the time…
or at least 3-4 times a week…
whichever comes first.

I make so many
different varieties
and textures
and flavors.

I used to freak out
just a little
when I thought about
making bread.

Not so much anymore.

I just do it
and it always
seems to work out
just right.

I write
all the time.

I write different things,
different ways,
with different words.

Yet, I tend to freak out
just a little
when I think
about writing another book.

I don’t know why.

I do know that
after two books,
it doesn’t make much sense.

as I kneaded
and formed loaves,

I realized that in this moment,
writing is a little
bit scary for me.

Just like making bread
used to be.

I no longer worry
about my bread
and whether or not
anyone will like it.

I just do it
because I love doing it.

And, the bread is always eaten.

Tonight, I brought my mind back
and quieted the doubting.

And, this is the lesson learned
over a slice of homemade bread…

do what you love doing
because you love doing it

And let the rest take care of itself.

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