Today I want to put my head down on my desk. It hurts. My head, not the desk, but that’s not why I want to put my head down. I feel, today, as though if I just rest my forehead on the wood of my desk, close to my computer, staring at the floor which is in desperate need of being vacuumed…if I do that for a minute, for two, for five for an hour for a week month year…
If I just put my head down somehow, magically, the story will come. It will come out of my head and through my fingers (don’t ask how I’ll type with my head down…it’s magic.) I’ll write. I’ll be writing, instead of thinking about writing.
I was excited for school to start because I would get back to work, and I did do some work but I can’t seem to get into gear. And I was thinking how maybe I’ve already written my “best book evar” and how I wrote it before I “sold big” and maybe just being able to write the book I want without knowing if it will sell is really better for me than writing to a contract.
And I was thinking that I have been a writer for a long time, far longer than I’ve been earning money with it. And I love it. I love losing myself in a story.
So why, then, am I so…
I want to put my head down on my desk and hope for magic, but I know the only way it will happen is if I make it.
M
August 30th, 2007 at 6:05 pm · Link
As I was reading I was trying to think of something profound to say. I tried putting my head on the desk and looking at my floor that needs a darn good swifering, but nothing happened. No words came. Then I remembered, I’m not a writer and the writer magic only works for writers.
So what I will say is… I believe the magic will come. It’s in there somewhere.
August 31st, 2007 at 6:48 am · Link
Thanks, Rosie.
I don’t want to look at my floor, either.
Ick!