This week, immersed in laying out license plate letters and making a few signs, my mind kept busy spinning its threadbare story of how I don't have time or the ability to write.
So, this afternoon, feeling a little out of sorts because of my lack of haiku or verse this week, wrapping the last sign for tomorrow's shipment, the mini-billboard I held was shouting the real purpose of life: Carpe Diem.
I don't kid myself about my writing. I can turn out some decent haiku, occasionally a poem works, and sometimes feel deeply enough about a sycamore or person or thought to pen a short essay. Novelist, no. Mystery writer, no. But, give me a pile of old junkyard stuff, saw and paint, hammer and nails, and I'm prolific. As I pondered the Carpe Diem sign in my hand today, I truly understood time is not given to be wasted. And, there are many ways I write in my world.