Despite the writerly ADD that sent me to check for new leaks every ten minutes, I got a chapter finished. I barely have two brain cells to rub against one another.Įven so, I turn to the page with gratitude. I haven’t been able to hold anything in my head for more than a minute. I have found it impossible to trust my choices from sentence to sentence. It is racket, buzz, noise in the mental attic. This is not productive time, this insomniac-attempt to plan Step A to Step B to Step C. My brain grabs a couple of intense, dreamless hours a night, then wakes busy and holds sleep at a distance. Homes disrupted in the craziness of water and demolition damage and an imminent move. Body blows to an admittedly unsteady ego. Balance has been available in minutes, only. Unlike writers who live happily in excess and turmoil, I am a sailor in my head I favor calm waters of circumstance upon which the ideas can sail.Ĭalm has been hard to come by, lately. Some writers thrive, living close to the edge.
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