Today marks the 100th day in a row that I’ve posted on my blog.

If this were the 100th day of school, small children would be celebrating. They might count up 100 tally marks, make 100th Day T-shirts, or perform 100 jumping jacks.

There would be groups of 100 children on the football field, and an aerial drone would take their photograph to remember the moment. They would sing songs in honor of the number 100. They would have a parade with the number 100 as the grand marshal.

They might make a display with 100 pennies or Cheerios or macaroni noodles to then sit in a keepsake box until it’s time for their high school graduation, when families might decide to use it in a display of memorabilia at the afterparty, where guests might leave cards of congratulations and crisp $100 bills inside.

So far all I’ve done is make a peanut butter pie and lay down cardboard in my raised beds to keep the weeds and grass from taking over again.

I ate a vegetable plate and a tomato sandwich for lunch, the first one of the season and a celebration all its own.

I worked on regular work, as usual. Part of that involved checking the calendar setup in the student information system for each school for the 2025-26 school year.

The 100th day of school is Monday, January 26th. Start your collections now, little ones. It will be here before you know it.

At one time, I thought if I ever got on a roll with my writing, I would reward myself once I hit certain milestones.

I’d make a pilgrimage to Flannery O’Connor’s homeplace, called Andalusia, in Milledgeville, Georgia. I’d wander through the house, feed the peacocks, and buy a T-shirt in the gift shop.

And since Eatonton is just up the road, I’d go there too and catch glimpses of Alice Walker’s characters from The Color Purple: Celie, Nettie, and Shug Avery.

I’d visit Rowan Oak, William Faulkner’s estate, in Oxford, Mississippi, and then I’d spend the rest of the day in Square Books pretending I’m living in Yoknapatawpha County.

I’d make a weekend trip to Montgomery, Alabama with the goal of attending all the plays at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival.

But all I’ve done is the usual, and that’s enough. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

After one hundred days, I’ve learned some things about what it takes to be what you want to be and to do what you want to do.

You just do it. Day after day, night after night. There is no magic formula, no guidebook to read, no potion to motivate.

You do it whether you feel like it or not. At the same time, every evening, I’m at my computer writing words that usually come together in a halfway understandable essay or poem or story that hopefully captures some truth about life and that might inspire or entertain.

If the blank page on the computer is too overwhelming, I have my notebook. Truth be told, most of what I end up writing starts on the pages of a notebook, where the hard task of writing feels more forgiving. I can see my crossed-out phrases and scribbled-in notes in the margin. They are a comfort to me, a reminder that it’s okay to make mistakes, change my mind, and let ideas marinate a little while longer. 

But with each day, the process gets easier. 

And the reward?

Why, that’s simple.

It’s not getting to the end of my posts and thinking, wow, that’s a good one. Because they could always be better, and I will always feel like a crappy writer doubtful of her own abilities.

It’s not getting likes or comments, though they are appreciated, but I could just as well have folks trashing what I do or else thinking AI is doing it for me.

But I need no extrinsic motivation to keep this up. If I never published another word, I would continue to fill notebooks with scribbles and verse. I would draw stars beside paragraphs that I think are important. I would notate other sections with question marks if I don’t know what to make of them.

And that’s the reward. Nick Saban is right:

It’s all about the process.

Most of the time, during the writing process itself, I don’t know what to make of it all, but I keep doing it, relying on discipline, commitment, effort, and accountability.

Knowing I’m putting something out there daily for the eyes of the world to see is like creating an accountability tower from building blocks of words, and I’m going to try my best to make something good of it.

But lo and behold, something else begins to emerge, and this is the part that makes me smile.

It’s usually a surprise, like turning the corner, where I run smackdab into a part of myself that’s been there all along.

And it is there that it all makes sense: my past, my present, and my future.

The act of writing creates a singularity in time and space: it’s a tiny point of change from which entire worlds emerge, and I meet myself both coming and going.

I think Miss O’Connor said it best: “I have to write to discover what I am doing.”

So I’m going to keep writing and discovering, now 100 days plus. I might not post every day, but I’ll still be working.

The habit is entrenched. I am now accountable to myself and to God, to write what is true, always.

But maybe a little celebration wouldn’t hurt. I’ve been keeping up with the word count of my posts.

100 days = 71668 words.

I do believe I’m going to have a piece of peanut butter pie.

It’s also high time I shop online for a Flannery O’Connor T-shirt.