The Story Behind Looseleaf...

Let me tell you a story...

image credit: Hybrid (Unsplash)

image credit: Hybrid (Unsplash)

For a number of years now, I have wanted to write a book. 

Maybe you know the feeling?

I mean, I have written books. I have five poetry collections of various sizes and I am proud of them all, and slightly awed that I brought such things into the world. But this one...the book I envisioned was going to be...magical. And nurturing. And wise. And comforting. And inspiring. And vibrant. And juicy. And and and...

And I wasn't writing it. 

I tried everything. Nailing myself  to the writing desk. Studiously ignoring the writing desk. Writing fragments. Writing from an outline. Using markers and mindmaps. Taking naps. 

I even gave myself a hard deadline by scheduling a series of pitching sessions to agents. It  didn't help. I got to the pitching sessions with a file of ideas in very raw form. The agents were pretty much...not impressed. 

Maybe you know the feeling? 

So here is what I did. I started where I always start. I paused. I breathed for a bit. And then I asked a question. "Do I really want to write this book?" And I listened. 

Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly) I heard a small voice whisper back, "Not really..."

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    I sat with that for a moment. Then another question rose to the surface. "What do you want to do then? What would be fun?"

    And the small voice whispered back, "What if you grew your occasional online notes and jottings into a blog? A new blog, something bigger than you've tried before?" That question intrigued me, and led to another. "What if a book didn't have to be a book? What if it could be a loose series of (virtual) pages, let go to fly on the winds of the internet?" 

    My pulse began to quicken, just a bit. I caught a new scent on the air. Something I wanted to track down. I felt myself grow still, alert. There's something here. Maybe you know the feeling? 

    Which brings us to Looseleaf, the Odonata Creative blog, an homage to all the loose leaf pages we have filled and saved over the years, stuffed into binders, piles, left to drift like snow or sand across the paths, sorted and shuffled, folded and shared. 

    It's a note, loves. Written and passed to you when the people at the front of the room aren't looking. 


    Sarah Sadie1 Comment