What does a writer do when his morning practice entails writing but doesn’t want to, and frankly can’t. I guess stop, right? Go for that walk?
Decide to not give myself that break, keep Mike Madigan in chair.
Or not. Th thought of a walk and a latte just too tempting, easing, something needed. Outside, soft air and sun, no clouds, sky’s blue is gentler this morning, singing, assuring, comforting a writer like me. Like Fall, elevating my mood and overall way.
Last night with the Orin Swift Sauv Blanc, quiet, not much happening and me not needing anything but the wine and its music, and the actual music I had playing which was no surprise Mr. Coltrane…. Composition. Reminded of the value of the immediate. Writing EVERYTHING as it happens so it can’t escape. This #blogeverythingnow idea is far more inviting and framing that I thought initially.
Notes in journal… what I’m feeling as a writer, human, father, character. One side, frustration for obvious reasons and then the other – entertained.
Not letting myself move quick. Slower, more deliberate, measuring…. The kids are reading. Minding all sentences and expression.