Today, for the first time in over three weeks, I sat down to write for real. Three hours. That’s what I scheduled, and that’s what I pretty much did (with only a small interruption in the middle). I sat in my nearly empty basement and pulled up my Work in Process, and I started in on it.
Let me tell you how much I sucked. I mean. Really. Really sucked.
I felt clumsy. I felt lost. I felt as out of touch as Donald Trump might.in a room full of intellectuals. The words, they just kinda stuck together, you know? All I could bring to the page were simple thoughts and a few cool sounding phrases that almost meant something reasonable, but, sadly in the end, merely just sat there waving at me like a five year-old calling out “Look at me, look at me! I’m writing here! Look at me!”
Despite that, I’ve got to say it was a great morning.
So great that after this writing session I was happily picking up stuff to drive to Sans Souci, and jauntily tossing stuff in the trash, and humming along with Radio Paradise as I ate lunch and loaded up the car. Then—after dropping stuff off and recycling a printer cartridge—I carried that little wave of joy with me right on through to give myself a reward: Ice cream at Ritters (Reese’s Cup glacier with chocolate ice cream, if you must know).
Yes, this moving thing is a monster. Yes, it’s a high stress thing for everyone around. But at the end of the day life is pretty danged good in the Collins household right now, and a morning of crappy writing can be fixed, you see. In fact, it’s moments like this that remind me of two important things—first, that most mornings are full of crappy writing that must be fixed; and second, that a morning filled with crappy writing beats a morning doing just about anything else.