Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Blank pages.  Gray skies.  Empty bowls.  Out of coffee...

I decided to move the living room furniture around.  It's been a three day adventure.  But what it's left me with is a tiny little space called the "office."  A space of about 5 ft x 5 ft.  Previously the "cat room" it now contains my des, my printer, a spot for my lap top and a white wire shelf that spans two sides of the three walls.  But it's "my" office.  Just a place to park my butt and write, away from the TV.  Has it worked?  Not yet.  I've paid my bills and checked my e-mail.  So what's missing?

My butt...parked!  Can't write if I don't use the space.  The space its self is not going to write the story, owning the membership to the gym is not going to make me thin, just buying the lottery ticket won't make me rich.  Then what does it take.  Commitment, perseverance, and work.  

(The butt shifts)

Writing requires a virtual pact.  You promise to love, honor, and cherish your work.  (through the first phase) Then you change, mold, and re-write. (to what you really wanted in the first place but didn't get, until the last phase) When you decide the two of you must make a concerted effort to grow and change together until you reach the realization you are now both, older and mature.

(Butt rises, then eases back down)

Sure everything is going along fine, then...WHAM!  The car breaks down, the kid gets sick, the cell phone company says you’re a month behind [I wondered why there was an extra fifty bucks in the account.].  All you want to do is sit down and drink while watching Doctor Who from David Tennant through Matt Smith.  But you don't.  Just like your writing you push through the self-doubt, wade through the self-defeat, climb up on the skinny life raft called hope and ride the rapid until you feel safe and comfortable again.  

(Squeaking sound)

It's the daily grind. (not just java people) But work.  Boring, monotonous, and then all hell breaks loose and your sent scrambling before the floor falls in.  You keep writing, just like every day you get up go to work until the bell rings, and you go running to your car, and tearing out of the parking lot.  But you DO IT EVERYDAY OR YOU DON'T GET PAID.  No excuses, get your ass to work.

It doesn't seem so hard.  And yet, I let a million things get in the way.  Like moving the furniture when I should have just stopped and sat down and wrote.  On the other hand, the apartment does look pretty good now, and I have an office.