Sometimes writing just doesn’t happen. Or it limps along. Or it flows, briefly, and then stops. For me, this happens when I’m sick and my brain is slow – often just from a cold, or an allergy – but it’s enough to slow writing to the point of painfulness. Sometimes I stop, walk away, have a nap, or go on an errand, knowing that whatever writing I push to accomplish will have to be redone the next day.
Because the good days – the great days – those brilliant writing days – on those days, the words sing, and a day of pushing is so far from that it’s hard to bother. In between are the regular writing days, when there are moments that shine, and moments that struggle, and progress, although it always feels too slow.
This is where the work of writing kicks in. To simply do the work, even if the words aren’t dancing – to do the work, hoping the words will sing.
Maureen
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