There is power in writing slowly
Hardwired by generations of ancestors who worked their sweat into the soil before the break of dawn, I set about my morning tasks under a still-dark sky. Unlike those that came before me, I do not work the cold ground or tend to warm beasts. No, my hands brush across smooth paper and encase the comfort of my warm pen.
It begins with three cups of coffee and then I switch to Irish breakfast tea. The steam powers my hand as it moves across the page. The blank page is my fertile field. The pen, my spade. The day has begun.
I write in analog.
No laptop. Not even a typewriter.
Jenny Wren 