All It Takes is One Little Thing…

There are days where I think I’m more in love with the idea of writing than writing itself.

I keep a small pen and notepad in my back pocket almost constantly now (a little trick I picked up from Kicking and Screaming). I did so to write down the random story idea when it would pop into my head or if I would have a thought on a current project. What do I use it mostly for? Grocery lists, reminders for bar stuff, or info on possible lawn customers.

I’ve gotten into the habit of keeping a backpack in my truck with my big notebook that I actually write in along with whatever book I’m reading; this way if I have time to write or read I can. This most often comes up when I’m stuck at a train crossing. It’s better than playing Angry Birds, right? But today I realized I’d forgotten my bag at home and cursed myself. Then I realized, “What the hell does it matter? You’re too damn busy anyway.”

I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts lately; namely WTF with Marc Maron and The Nerdist. Most of what gets discussed in these interviews is the creative process and how these people from the entertainment world work and how they got started. Listening to these people talk about being creative makes me want to be creative. As a result, I spent a good portion of my day getting psyched about sitting down after soccer practice and dinner tonight and writing.

Then everything went to hell. Eowyn didn’t close the door all the way so the dog got loose (he later returned about half an hour later after I’d chased him all over, he’d feasted on an already dead bird, and was nearly hit by a Mustang) and then Conn and Lanie ran through the house screaming. Now, my creative aspirations were all just shot as soon as the dog got loose. I got frustrated and pulled out of my zone and I knew there was no way I was going to get back into that groove.

Yet, here I am pouring my thoughts on the matter out on to this damn thing like nothing at all. I can sit here and spew with nary a break in the clickety clack of the laptop keys, but I know that if I went back to the table and my notebook and the manuscript I’ve given myself a month to finish, I would sit there staring vacantly at the lines on the paper like they were a proverbial jail cell.

But, if I’m lucky, this vomiting of thoughts and frustrations on to empty bandwith might be just what I needed to calm down and get ready to get back at it for the evening.

I also have some beers and a new bottle of Maker’s Mark if I need a little more help.

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