Once upon a time, when the New Year began, the people of earth rushed around to create Resolutions, choose their Word for the year, review what had been and set plans for what was to come and generally get prepared to have their Best Year Yet.
In a little house, in a Mews, on the South Coast of England one such earthling sat, pondering what was something she could commit to for the next 366 days. Lots of ideas went through her head but none seemed just right. None seemed to flow. None would stick. So, with a deep sigh, she moved on and reluctantly let it go.
Twenty one days later the memory of her bag of bits broke through to her awareness – a collection of words that meant something to her, although she wasn’t quite sure what they meant and words that moved her, although she didn’t always know why they did and as yet unformed images in her mind, things she’d like to bring into the world. They were all in the bag because she had found no other place for them.
She had thought they might form part of a workshop she’d been designing, or maybe she would hand them over to someone with more clarity than her. Someone who could turn them into a book on her behalf. She’d done neither so far.
Then, three weeks from when the New Year began the memory of her bag of bits and the thought “if I were writing a book” collided in her mind and became one. She knew what she had to do and she did it. Hence . . .
This is Number 1 of 366 book bits.