When I’m serious about putting words to paper, I move from the red sofa to the dining room table. When I’m truly serious, I travel down hidden staircases.
My New Year’s resolution began with a commitment to write two hours a day. Period. My brain muscles fought, and frustration turned to anger at the end of each two-hour session. Every word coaxed onto the blank page was crap. Horrible, boring, and flat.
I decided I should write when inspiration struck. I began missing days, and my ability to fill my time with reading about writing took a front seat. I faced the fact that I couldn’t grow as a writer unless I wrote consistently without fail. I returned to writing crap two hours a day.
Sometime last week, however, the magic began. It reminded me of the times I sat beside my son during homework hours and we pretended to fasten our seatbelts. Once he succumbed to the new world order, the homework completed itself. So too for me. Once I quit the fight and succumbed to my new uncomfortable habit, the words began to flow.
The maxim, ‘habits die hard,’ was overshadowed by a new maxim for me: ‘hard it is for habits to blossom.’ When I began training for triathlons, the 5 a.m. push to bike, hike or swim left me in tears. My psyche kicked and screamed, and my committed mileage took forever to complete. But my brain rewired itself, succumbed to the inevitable, and soon the routine flowed.
DIYMFA writing prompts inspire me. Words jump from my head whenever a new project arrives. Right now, my laptop rests on my thighs deep in the cushions of the big red sofa. But once Fedex arrives, I will leave my comfortable abode and head to work. Consistently producing pages demands toil and trouble.
My commute to work requires two feet and an imagination. Depending on my mood, the route takes me through the Secret Garden or to the grounds of Mandalay.
Six secret staircases hide in my neighborhood, and two provide a century-old path to my coffee shop. The numbing iron rail steadies any misstep down the moss-covered steps, and water drips from towering conifers. As I come closer to my destination, my words itch to jump to white space. They anticipate the next two hours, now knowing it represents an uninterrupted opportunity for them to shine.
Because familiarity breeds intimacy, everyone knows my name when I order my 12-ounce latte, extra hot. They also know I won’t be coming up for air for quite some time.
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