Yesterday I watched Suzan-Lori Parks work. 
The playwright sat at a table at the front of the room and she wrote.
For an hour.
On a red typewriter.

She had both water and coffee.
And some peppermints.
A few books.

Once, she stopped to check and send a text.
She took off her sweater.
She typed.

And so did I.
Because that was part of the "performance".
The audience was invited to do our own work. 
We spread out at desks and tables with journals and laptops and we wrote.

I was revising a picture book text.
A text I have written and revised and written and revised for many years now.
I can’t say the number because it horrifies me.
I have rejoiced over and cursed this text.
I have quit and restarted it.
I have had high hopes and no hope.

And yet, there I was yesterday, just working away on an ordinary Thursday, sippin’ coffee and hangin’ with Suzan-Lori Parks. I felt calm and, also, energized. I felt comforted to know that other people were working away, too, and occasionally sneaking a peppermint or a text to a friend. I felt bound to the timer at the end of the hour, knowing I wouldn’t quit before then — and wanting to work well afterwards.

So today I’m grateful for process.
I’m actually grateful that books don’t come out, all of piece, in our dreams. 
I’m grateful for the opportunity to revisit, to grow, to change.
I’m grateful for tables and timers, for new ideas and old stubborn ones.
I’m grateful for the examples of both inspiration and tenacity that remind me to sit down and open myself up to whatever comes out on the page today. 
I’m grateful.