Here I am, wandering back into the blogosphere, trying to formulate some sort of thought process worthy of words.  I don’t know about the rest of you out there, but periodically I find myself in a sort of cave- woman state, where my verbal repertoire feels limited to grunts and hand gestures.  Simply communicating about everyday things like lunch money and who is picking up whom after which after school activity becomes a laborious process.  Assessing a suicidal client during a late night ER call is difficult and draining. And writing?  Ha!  Like playing volleyball with a lead balloon.

I like writing on the days when the words are lined up, bouncing up and down, waving their metaphorical little hands and shouting, “pick me, pick me!”    On the days when they behave like teenagers on a Saturday morning when there’s work to be done, and I have to literally drag them out of bed to get them to do anything, writing is just plain old hard work and I’ll do any number of unpleasant tasks to avoid it.

And if I’ll do unpleasant tasks to avoid it, imagine the call of lying on the couch in front of a cheerful fire on a grey September morning, reading a book.  I’d like to say that I’m going to work on Gatekeeper today.  I’d like to say that I’m going to finish the last surface edit of Filling in the Blanks, which is almost done.  But I can come up with a whole list of reasons why I should just do nothing today.

Hey, I’ve been really busy, and my work week next week is beginning to look like something from Dante’s Inferno, so I deserve a break.  The economy is…(okay, I do not have an appropriately descriptive word for the economy), Sara Palin frightens me, I’ve been on call the last two nights and didn’t sleep well, and the book I’m reading is getting really interesting.  Plus, it’s sorta kinda research for the book I’m writing, so isn’t that really just as good as writing, anyway?  Besides, I’m not decisive by nature, and I’ve reached the place in Gatekeeper where I’ll have to make an actual decision about something important, which I suspect will necessitate discarding some writing that I happen to like.  I hate making decisions.  I hate discarding writing.  It’s easier to play ostrich and bury my head in the sand.  Oh yeah – taking a day off will be “refilling the well”, (thanks to Julia Cameron) and therefore actually good for my writing.

Right?

Okay.  They are only excuses.  I need to write today and I know it.  And I will.  Right after I lie on the couch for a bit and read…

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