I wrote 16 words the other day, and finished four books. One I’d started in October and stalled out on; two were nonfiction audiobooks; one was my bedside book, a Katherine May jam that had lived in a stack with some others TBR (to be read) for over a year. Now, they’re done. They’ve danced with my attention for weeks, in fits and starts, and we’ve all landed the last step on the same beat.

I sometimes forget I have the power to control many of the inputs, that I can change the inflow of words. I guess I was hungry for those books, but elsewhere, I’ve got no appetite. On various platforms, I’ve turned off the email options and toggled off notifications I’ve been receiving only to delete and clear out. I’ll never have to remove them if I keep them from coming in the first place.

None of it’s forever. I felt a little guilty, kicking things out of my inbox, but it’s not personal, and it’s not forever. Just the contrary, it’s for right now.

No telling about tomorrow. Inflows, and outflows, we’ll keep adjusting.

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Writing prompt: What has to go to make room for what’s next?

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