Wow. Getting back into the writing swing of things after a month and a half off is a lot harder than I anticipated.
Actually, it’s a lot like squeezing out the last bits of toothpaste from a well-crumpled up tube. There’s a generous amount left for just one more brushing, it pops in and out like a child sticking out his tongue, but no matter how hard you squeeze, it slurps right back in.
Ugh. Not what I was expecting.
Guess I have to go back to the old tried and true of using a timer. Talk about echoes of childhood. “You’re in a 45 minute time out, missy. Go sit in the corner!”
Funny thing about timers. Now that I’m an adult, they work. Thirty minutes is too short, one hour is too long, but forty-five minutes is just right for settling down. By the time the beeper goes off, I’m usually well into a groove and will often continue until the creativity spark peters out.
Still doesn’t mean the words won’t take their own sweet, constipated time but at least it makes my life seem a little more controllable.
