Some days I feel like a writer, most days I don’t. On those days I feel like Sisyphus pushing that stone up a steep hill only to have it roll back down at the top. On those days, I type, delete, type, delete. No progress, all crap.
But on those special days, those magical days, I tingle. Ideas slam together in my brain, creative fission at its best (woohoo – I worked in a nuclear metaphor). Today I tingle. This is why I’m scrawling my first draft of the blog in the tiny notebook I always carry, still sweaty from my workout (I ran two miles – BOOYAH bitches!), hunched over a table greedily writing each word so they can’t escape and wander into someone else’s mind.
Days like today don’t happen very often. When they do, I try to clear my calendar so I can have alone time with the computer, no dinner or wine necessary. Then reality arrives, knocking on the door like an unwanted guest, dirtying the house, eating the food, and drinking the expensive booze. My calendar is not my own. Children home for summer vacation can destroy a clean home with the speed and efficiency of the Tasmanian Devil. To save the house, we go to the beach, the park, a festival, or the yard. And the weeds grow really fast in the summer, demanding attention before the home disappears like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Trips get taken, family members visit, and the fourth season of True Blood is deep in plot twists and character madness (OK, this last one I could control a bit more). In other words, I can’t lock myself away with my computer to explore my tingles, I can’t torture my characters with lost love, and I can’t edit the 200+ pages I’ve written thus far.
Instead, I set aside my scribbled notes to be addressed later. I change the sheets, feed the kids, scour Wal-Mart for school supplies, make dinner, attend baths, prod the kids into bed, and chat with our guest. All in all, it’s a lovely day full of laughter, good stories, and great company. But my computer is still lonely and the fission has gone cold. The house is quiet now. Tomorrow, another full day involving cows, cream puffs, and finding the best deep-fried cheese curds at the State Fair, starts early. Yet here I write; type, delete, type, delete. The only thing tingling are my feet falling asleep as I sit cross-legged on the floor, the laptop on the coffee table in front of me. Type, delete, type, delete.
I still want to finish the first draft by Labor Day, but time is no longer on my side. But I have determination, the same determination that kept Sisyphus pushing his rock up the hill (OK – picky people – it was his punishment for all of eternity and I write for fun – just go with it). However, I did manage to run a mile all in one go before the end of summer. If I can complete one seemingly impossible goal this summer, why not the other (not sure what I’m talking about – read this)?
So, dear reader, here’s hoping I get out of the way when the rock rolls back down.
Author’s note: For any astute readers who may have noticed a missing post last week, I took the week off to explore the world (well, just Northern California – but it felt like another world complete with trees on steroids, bacchanalian wine, and a whole lot of scraggly facial hair).
