In attempt to become more intentional about finishing my books and promoting my writing I have outlined schedules and milestones that I consistently fail to meet. I find my days are packed with staff meetings, conferences, five hour round-trip drives to attend a single on-site class in Greeley Colorado, school assignments, family obligations and now freelance writing assignments as well. Although my good intentions have provided me reason to start the day, by the time the day darkens and the moon is once again bright in the sky, my books remained untouched and stagnent. My main project had remained at twenty something pages for way too long and project number two has existed purely as idea.
Then came last night.
Last night, when I was was laying myself down at 9.30pm, an exceptionally early time for a night owl such as myself, ideas, and good ideas mind you, began to loom, then materialize, and rise up and form into thoughts. Now, I am no stranger to this divine sort of intervention. There are many times in my life where I can point to a person or an event and just know something about them or it. Something I should not know, but this had yet to happen with my work until last night. So, there I was, laying in bed with an exhausted body but liberated mind. I rolled over and grabbed my phone to voice record these no-less-than-brilliant ideas. Last night, clothed in an old tee shirt and wrapped in warm plaid sheets, I solved the issues of scheduling, how to intertwine storylines in my book, and how to create the realism of the two women’s situations in a believable way.
This morning I awoke knowing that the mornings are for writing and the afternoons are for walking.
I sat down at my desk after dropping my eldest off at middle school and I wrote for three hours straight. No stoping to edit or reread. No questioning the plot or the characters. No getting distracted by laundry of the fact that I was hosting ten women tomorrow evening and my house was a mess. In fact, the characters and plot wrote themselves without effort from me. The way the words effortlessly made there way to my screen was evidence that I had finally overcome my writer’s block. My six month writer’s block.
By noon I had added five pages to my novel and three to a short story.
I could finally go on my afternoon walk with Moose, my small black dog, and feel accomplished at something other than running errands. What a wonderful feeling it is.
Tonight I go to bed feeling fulfilled.