I decded last week that I would write every day–and I do: comments on student papers, posts to my work blog, emails, articles for the SWA newsletter, anything but fiction. My second novel sits back in the second row hoping to get a few minutes today.
I have no excuses.
I chose to do other things–shopping, a concert, a party, watching two movies in one evening. Why do I put off doing one of the things that brings me pleasure?
It’s work. I don’t know where the story is going, and despite Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake, I have no outline. My main character and I share a sense of deep shift in our lives, almost like a psychic earthquake, wondering where our next step will land, and if there is a path ahead, or open fields or desert or jungle. I don’t know where I am going, and neither does she, so I don’t know where she is going. Take a step. Write a word. Write another word. Take a step.
I’ve been reading James Braush’s story about the spiritual awakening of a homeless man. He writes every day. I look forward to hearing his story every day and seeing what his next offer will be about internet marketing. Wouldn’t it be nice if someone wanted to read what I posted every day? I would only have to post something every day.
I was dreaming about his subject matter this morning, that I too was homeless though I had a laptop, but it was stolen when I stopped paying attention to my surroundings. Then the officical person at the shelter stuck his foot in my face and told me that it was my fault for not paying attention. He said he knew who had the computer, but I could not stay at that shelter that night because I had let someone else take it. If you don’t use it, you lose it. It was a wakeup call, and it woke me up at 5:30 to get up and get writing.
So here I am, typing, letting my tea and agave soak into my brain to wake up as the fog outside the house resolves into landscape. It is a trust issue….can I trust myself? The only answer is to take a step, like Indiana Jones and the Holy Grail, knowing that if I fall, no one will hear the sound of one pen dropping.