ha. ha. ha.

in stereotypical writer fashion, i gave myself that challenge and promptly found myself completely devoid of any kind of creative thought. i spent an hour looking through my collections of ideas in notes, in collected files on the computer, in old notebooks, scraps of paper, and nothing. not a blessed thing. i couldn’t put two creative twigs together. zippo.

so, true to the art, i went and did something else. i went for a jog (with Rocky II on the mini-dvd player), then wandered unhelpfully around the kitchen while Mary made a delicious soup for dinner, then we watched a little As Time Goes By, followed by my shower, and still nothing. so we watched The Jane Austen Book Club, and it’s 9 o’clock, bed-time, and i still haven’t written a blessed word.

but i made a challenge.

so i stuck my keister in the chair and forced the words out. this, this,  is why i love writing. that moment of discovery. no matter how dry i feel, if i can only force myself to spend even just 5 minutes writing or typing, i will discover something.

of course, it might end up being worthless, but how am i supposed to know that now? and why would i want to worry about that at this point?

day 1: success.


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