My daughter has her characters in place for the story she was going to write. She has a plot that isn't terribly exciting, but it's all hers. She knows where she's going and all that is left is to put pencil to paper. Today I suggested she make a start; told her she'd probably get it done today, or she could do a bit at a time if she preferred.
She slanted her mouth down and dipped her head to look at me from under her wayward fringe.
'I don't really want to,' she said. And ran off to fetch her Hama beads instead.
It would be lovely to try to glean a lesson from this. It is so often hard to start writing (either a new thing, or sometimes on a new day!); to begin committing an idea to print, knowing you're going to spoil it along the way. But let's face it. She's six. She's not afraid of failing yet. She simply wanted to do something else instead. Perhaps it was my fault for trying to help her too much. Perhaps I corralled her imagination and creativity into something that no longer held any sparkle for her. Or perhaps she has the focus of a grasshopper. There's no point sucking the joy from it by forcing her to do it, so that, it seems, is the end of that.
Here's to feeling the joy; but keeping up the 'work' even on the days the joy stays in bed.