Doing as I'm told:)

I'm on 48 hours rest, doctors orders to help combat this extremely nasty chest infection that I have, yet again.


I'm doing as I'm told no option really as it has made me weak as a kitten.
I can't just lie here though so I decided to explore my writing and reading passion.
I've always written. I've always read.
Throughout my life and my lifelong illness reading and writing have comforted me. They have been my escape and my solace.
I spent  a large portion of my childhood in hospital and convalescent homes. Then 2 years in a home for delicate children:)
Unable to do anything.
My nanny started my lifelong interest in history from around the age of 6 I think. Before that I read children's books.
I learnt to read at 3, my nanny again. In those days there weren't any kindergartens or play groups, you started school at 5.
By then I'd been reading a while. You still had to do things by the book :) but schools were far more flexible then than now and if you could read and write you were encouraged to explore that as far as you wanted.
A few years later I had read all the books in the children's library and started on the adult section.
Historical novels and science fiction were my favourites alongside history, but I would read anything:)
I wrote stories and poetry. Even when I became interested in other stuff books and writing were still essential.
When I first married the writing had to become a secret, it wasn't allowed and was a waste of time. I was chastised , hard to believe now that I let someone order me about like that.
So I still wrote but in secret, I had to do it it was a very big part of me and who I am.
It wasn't until I met Mr Mog many years later that I could be me, truly me. Write anything I wanted and bury my head in my books whenever I chose to.

I journalled furiously, after all I had a lot of time to make up.
My blog was, and is, an extension of the journals. I still write morning pages when I feel the need. I write bits in journals and bits on my blog.
I have empty books in the car and in my bag for when the need to write is on me.
Lying here with doctors orders for complete rest for 48 hours the writing again gives comfort.
It always has and it always will.
The written word holds so much within its letters, a magic all its own.
26 letters of sheer sorcery ready and waiting to weave their magic at our request and need.