I woke up this morning ready for a great day of a little exercise and a lot of writing. I’ve been scribbling down ideas, brilliant one-liners, and several pages of character building over the last week. I was slapped aside the head several times by my muse who insisted I find a quiet corner and write down remnants of the fantastic storyline she presented to me at the most impromptu moments. It was a busy work week. But hey … I’m no fool so I jotted down everything I could remember because the words, the images came at me like a speeding car on a residential street. You know they should be going slower but all you can do is jump out of the way and flip them off as they zoom by. Muses tend to care very little about timing.
But it excited me. I would be able to write maybe five or six pages of my new project. The rush would come over me when I became engrossed in the head of my character, breathing the same air as my protagonist. I couldn’t wait to wake up on this chilly Sunday morning, don my favorite pair of sweats, a pair that has seen better days, years ago. Anyhow, I fixed my triple espresso latte, turned on the fireplace and moseyed up to the laptop, brilliance at hand.
And then, without warning, procrastination slithered up beside me, uninvited. First it nudged me into checking my emails, glancing at the top stories of the day including the news that Brad Pitt would no longer do any nudity. Damn! I shook MR. P. procrastination, not Brad, off for a few minutes so I could get the day’s silly business out of the way. I was prepared to write but Mr. P. had other plans for me.
I found myself checking out a few You Tube Videos, loved the one about the striking comedy writer whose wife couldn’t wait for him to get back to work. I then did a little bit of online shopping, Christmas is just around the bend and I have no desire to hit the malls because in my spare time, I need to write.
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