last fall, as i read through julia cameron's the artist's way, i was saddened by the discussion of artists who are unsupported in the pursuit of their work. since committing to writing, i've been blessed with loved ones, strangers, acquaintances, and colleagues who have been tremendously generous with their spirit, time, money, and wisdom.
even my mother--who awaits the 'rewards' of her child's ivy league degrees--lets me know from time to time that she understands i am doing what i am meant to do. "i've always known," she'd said. i've come to understand that there is little more important to the writer than the encouragement of her surroundings.
this morning, i am grateful for the firmness of loving hands.