A Day Without Writing…Is a Day My Husband Pushes Me Out The Door

A week without writing time, and I am not a pleasant person to be around. 

 Just ask my husband.

The husband who encouraged me to leave the house and write somewhere else yesterday.  

He may have even used terms such as “PMS” and “grouchy,” I’m not sure. Or maybe that was me, when describing what I feel like when I’ve gone too long without writing.

I felt a little giddy yesterday afternoon as I left the house with my writing materials.  Sometimes I carry everything in a tote bag. Occasionally it is my fancy leather case. Yesterday it was the messenger bag my son had bought me so I wouldn’t kill myself when I ride a bike. I wasn’t about to ride a bike in the 40-50 mile per hour winds Iowa was experiencing, but it was already packed with my writing materials from my last writing session.

A week before.

I’ve been working on my book, chapter by chapter, and finishing at least a rough draft before I move on to the next.  I have profiles of extreme couponers coming up in the next chapter, and a professor to interview for the chapter after that.  Right now, however, I am bogged down in research and statistics regarding the future of couponing. When I got to the library, I emptied my messenger bag, spreading the papers and file folders over the entire table. I sorted through the information, circling some pertinent information.  I re-read what I’d already written, revising a few sentences and trying to figure out what came next.

Then I promptly fell asleep.

Sitting there at the library table, surrounded by my writing after a seven day hiatus, chin propped in hand, I closed my eyes to ponder my next step, and fell asleep.

I was startled awake by someone approaching a nearby table.  I shook my head a little and tried to keep my eyes open. I forced myself to read the last paragraph I’d worked on but the words blurred on the page and I found my head bobbing again. 

It was no use. I was boring myself.

And if my writing was boring me, it would certainly bore potential readers.

I went home, disgusted with myself.

This morning I got up, put on a pot of coffee and proceeded to rip apart my chapter, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph. I made a new outline, detailing what I wanted to include, and then started all over.  It took a good two hours to completely re-write eight pages, but I’m raring to go to the library again this afternoon and continue from my new rough draft. No matter how warm and cozy the library is, I don’t think I’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. I’m too excited.

Just how I want the readers of my book to be.

Write on…

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