Remembering how to write.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010 at 12:46PM Wake up around 8:30 a.m. Brew some decaf. Lament that I'm off the hard stuff for good--I will never make it as a serious writer, will I? I simply must do more damage to myself in order for this to work. Shuffle around and ponder a run. Notice it is raining. Cancel the run. Another healthy pursuit can't be good for my inner angst, anyway. Ponder breakfast. Recall what I ate for dinner and decide breakfast can wait a bit.
Into the study. Check e-mail. Ah! A message from an old friend. Read it and then reread it. Respond. Read response and then reread it. Make some edits. Send response. Clean out the spam folder. Another e-mail from another old friend. Wow! Quicker response on this one; my mental pump is primed.
Launch Word and open the most recent version of On the Way to Someplace Else. Ponder the title. Should I change it? No. God, no. What is wrong with me??
Find where I left off. Read a few paragraphs. Then...and this is the really important part, for all you kids out there contemplating a career in writing.* Get up from my desk and LEAVE THE FREAKING STUDY.
Putter around the kitchen. Still not interested in breakfast. All the while, here is what is going on in my head:
What would she say to him? What would he say to her? How is she sitting? Which side of the table? What color is that other girl's hair? It's brown and curly. Really curly, though. Not just wavy like mine. Good call. What kind of reporter was this guy? Maybe he was in the army, too. Hmmmmm........nah. Too many army guys already. Is there conflict in this scene? Probably should be. How overt? Maybe it's below the surface. Maybe only a few people notice it. I do need a bridge, after all. This could be it. God, this is so much better than the dancing scene. That was just stupid. This is much, much better. Does it need more sex? No, seriously. Is there too much already?
Walk around a little more. Talk to myself. Answer myself, but standing on the opposite side from where I just was. Hope nobody is looking in my windows.
Back to the study. Write some words. Read them and reread them. They are good. Toggle over to the news and see what's happening in the world. Immediately regret this decision. Back to Word. Reread words again. I still like them. This is a very good sign.
Leave the study again. More decaf. Send an e-mail to the Infiniti salesman asking about rates and paint colors. But not in that order. Priorites, priorities.
Back at it. More words, but in a different part. This has needed fixing forever. Katie told me months ago and I got all defensive about it. But she was right. Thank god she understands my process. Contemplate running two doors down to hug Katie. Realize I'm still in my jammies and haven't showered or brushed my teeth. Hug can wait.
Make breakfast. Eat happily. House is still clean; good for my brain. Back to the study. More words. Damn, these are good, too.
Into the shower. There's a spider in the corner. I tell him (or her) not to worry; spiders don't bother me. I wonder aloud, however, what she will find to eat in there. Decide it's best not to think too much about that. Determine I have deteriorated from talking to myself to talking to a spider. Out loud. Uh-oh.
Out of the shower. Back to the study. Then to the kitchen. Brew a fresh pot of decaf. Who needs caffeine when the creative blood is flowing? Decide I should write about writing on my blog.
What a great day.
* Poor little bastards.
Reader Comments (2)
It is so nice to be appreciated.
As nice as it is to be understood? I wonder. You rock, lady.