Well, this year has started off at a lively pace. Everything has been happening so fast that today is the first opportunity I've had to get back to my blog since December. That's pretty sad for a writer.
I just overheard - okay, I was shamelessly eavesdropping on - a conversation between two strangers who were discussing writer's block and it was everything I could to keep from interrupting them to ask what it's like to have this alleged "writer's block" I keep hearing about. Is it real? I've never had it. I've never even had the opportunity to have it!
My day consists of a very long series of endless interruptions, punctuated by tiny bits of writing. I'm lucky if I get to finish a whole sentence; an entire paragraph is out of the question. Between our pets, the merciless telephone, and the pesky responsibilities of adulthood, the day is gone before I know it. Here, let me give you an example of my typical day:
Until I have coffee, I am not actually alive. I inhale two cups the second it's brewed; then I can eat some breakfast, take my meds, and start prying my eyes open. My third cup of coffee accompanies me outside as I take my beloved, elderly Rottweiler, Splendid Glory, on her morning constitutional. We come back inside and she gets a drink of water, then immediately goes back to bed for her morning nap. (I did mention she was old, right?) I shower and dress, feed the cats, and get settled at my desk to start writing.
As soon as I sit down to write, Splendid appears at my elbow to remind me that she is desperate for breakfast. Mortified that I haven't fed her yet (because she's been asleep), I promptly get up and feed her, usually apologizing about 35 times before getting her bowl in front of her. Then I sit back down at the desk and begin to write. At that point, a fight usually breaks out in the bedroom. I can tell it's a fight because of the horrible language the cats are using. I hobble back there, threatening them all the way. Sometimes they stop fighting before I get all the way back there, which is great for me, as I can return to my desk. Other times, I have to go all the way back there, grab the perpetrator, and sentence him to time-out in the dreaded "dungeon" room; i.e., the bathroom, for 20 blissful minutes (blissful for me, that is).
I return to my desk and begin writing. While working through a phrase, I hear a distinct "click-click-click" not unlike the sounds made by the dinosaurs' claws on the tile floor in JURASSIC PARK. The noise jolts me out of my concentration and tickles my brain until I get up to see what the heck it is. It turns out to be Splendid - she's dreaming about running, apparently, because she's fast asleep, with all four paws wiggling wildly, her nails clicking against the plastic of her bed. Instead of being annoyed, I stand there grinning like an idiot because she looks so adorable. Finally, I acknowledge that I will never have a video camera if I don't get busy and write something that will sell, so I return to my desk.
You get the idea - it continues like this until Jim gets home, at which point any hope of writing is dashed like an egg dropped on a rock. So maybe tomorrow. . . .
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