(The product links in this post are Amazon affiliate links, I make a small commission if you make a US or UK purchase through them. Read my disclosure here.)
Well, take now for instance. I’m back at the kitchen table surrounded by my favorite notebooks, with real words in them, some Christmas cards, puzzles, books, glitter, paint, and cheese snacks. The dishwasher’s on, it’s supposed to be one of those quiet ones, but it isn’t actually.
I’m halfway done with my coffee and my favorite coffee machine is rinsing itself. It does that.
I have plans every day that I’m going to sneak into the office when Neil is done with it for the day. But we hang out, which is nice. If I do go into the office it’s too quiet in there, except for Isla going, LET’S BE QUIET.
The first time I went in for a dedicated writing session recently, I banged out 938 words.
And then I stopped.
The next day was 527.
The next day the power went out, on the whole island.
I thought it was my fault for going back to bed when Isla left for school. The minute I opened my book, the lights went out. I blew a fuse. Or something.
‘We blew a fuse’, I said to Neil when he got back from the school run.
‘So’s the whole island,’ he said. ‘It’s a landslide.’
‘Now I hafta listen to Stevie Nicks, dude.’
‘No power, dude.’
And so, we lit candles. They were scented, and Neil started sneezing.
‘We can’t use deeze’, he said.
‘It’s the only time my house doesn’t smell of friggin’ farts. LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT.’
That was the day I got an actual letter in the post from my best writer friend who writes me actual letters. And I actually read it by candlelight. Because we had no power.
Reading hand-written letters has always made me want to write NOW.
So, I’m writing. And the school calls. They’re closing. So I close my notebook.
We play games and listen to music using Neil’s bluetooth speakers in the kitchen.
We light more candles and have dinner, and venture into the rest of the house trading a flashlight hat. Our friend from this travelling post had one, and Isla was fascinated by it, so he gave it to her. Strangely useful gift.
By the time the power came back I was feeling so cozy and analog, I didn’t want it back.
No real writing session that day, but it was kinda the best day of recent times. And I’m writing about it now.
My point is, go with the flow, I guess. Write where you’re at.
A few days ago, the prompt over at Bridge To The New Year was ‘What is something you want to achieve before 2018 ends, no matter how small it seems?
And I wrote:
Really, just dedicated writing time, and space. This is a bit of a busy house, considering only three people live here. I keep calling space as mine, but then corners are cut. Only I can do the work, but I also need to get better at boundaries and blinders, so more words get written.
After I declared that, I didn’t write anything. I said I was going to write after Isla went to bed, but I sit there. When I want quiet and I get it, IT’S TOO QUIET. And maybe I’m not a night writer any more, because I’m working on these words at 11 am. Yes, the table is crowded and in my kitchen, but I’ve written enough that I don’t notice the shit anymore.
I just have to allow myself to get in the zone, and then where it happens doesn’t matter.
Which brings me nicely to something I’d like to let go of next year, and that is PROCRASTINATION.
And maybe it’s strange, but for someone big on procrastinating, it isn’t a lack of motivation that’s the issue.
I have goals, but in the past I’ve also had excuses. I’m going to work on those, too.
And so, if you’re a goal-oriented recovering procrastinator, join me on this journey. Or something.
Maybe the power should go out more often.
Join the Gin & Lemonade newsletter!
Subscribe to get a roundup of posts, a writing prompt, and other groovy stuff every week!