Chasing Llamas

Life has ebbs and flows, and sometimes they are frustrating, other times they are simply what is and lived through. This is also true when you are a writer. Sometimes you are a slave to your keyboard, getting the words down as quickly as you can. Sometimes it is like this:

Summer has not been easy this year with regards to time spent on my multitude of writing projects. With best intentions, if I try to sit down to write in my house when I have the actual physical and mental energy to write, guaranteed that a child will need me as I park my bum in my chair and lift my tea for that first sip of writer’s ambrosia (aka Red Rose with a dash of honey and milk). If I banish my darlings outside to play, one of them will come in to a) tattle on the other or b) be crying because they hurt themselves, or each other. SO if there are children afoot, my writing stays aloft in the file folder, silent and sulking because I am unable to focus on it.

If not spending time being a normal, every day parent, sometimes I do get time to write during the day when I have energy for the practice. But, within two minutes of opening my file, I will have to pee, then notice that the bathroom sink is a mess, then notice there are no towels to dry my hands, then remember the load of towels needs to go in the washer, and then find out that the washer wasn’t emptied, then…

So that file I opened before I had to pee? Barbara Demarco-Barrett I ain’t, and it gets abandoned for laundry. And by the time I do get a few moments to sit down again? I don’t want to be mentally zoned in, crunching emotions into sentences by sheer will. I want to play a game on my iPad and zone out until the next energy wave hits and I have to again be a parent and adult.

Fall for me is normally a time when my creativity revs its engine, and my muse comes home from summer holiday. I suppose it is the impending coocoon of wintertime that brings out the idea of settling in for more creative devotion as the sunlight fades earlier and earlier. Hot teas, bulky sweaters and more time for introspection can lead to gains in my daily word count.

Ergo, the urge to “put pen to paper” has been poking me like a big pointy stick, and I have sat staring blankly at a file on my laptop at night for the past week, wanting to focus, wanting to get inside the head of a character to see my way through a situation.

But by 9 PM,  my brain has had it, and I am chasing the *^%&ing llamas.

I am hoping to catch them soon.

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