My artist’s date was a haphazard affair, in part because my plan A, to lay out somewhere and look at clouds, was met with oppressive humidity and an absence of a blanket that I’d be OK throwing on the ground. I love my area parks, but I know what goes on in them: I’m not about to lay on the ground without a blanket.

So, I headed out to Axman after dropping Mike off at the U (I get the car one day a week now, Fridays.) I had loosely intended to get some packaging stuff for my sale and then to go home to check the theater listing and take myself to see a movie, since watching movies alone had been a favorite solo activity of mine for years.¹ Instead, I found myself turning off by the Goodwill on University. As I was parking, I actually heard myself thinking, Hey! I didn’t plan on going here!

Go in, said the Voice.

I entered the store. Go look at the books. I looked in self-help. I half expected to see something by Julia Cameron on the shelves. Surprisingly, I rarely do see The Artist’s Way in used sections. Other books by her, yes, but not that one.

Keep looking. I wandered around the aisle, and finally heard a Stop. Here.

Sitting on the shelf was a book in reference, titled You Should Write a Book.

Don’t buy it! said the voice. You’re probably allergic. Say, didn’t you say you wanted some new clothes?

So now I’m sitting in a pretty blue dress that I bought on clearance, paired with some surprisingly high quality no ride-down underwear.² And I’ve been told by exactly who I most needed to hear it from: I should write a book.

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1. I can watch movies alone but I can’t get myself to go to a bar alone, ever. Not even for the sake of dancing. I have no idea why I’m wired that way. [↩]
2. For all women, this is a find. [↩]