I had something nice happen, writing-wise, this week. I was working on a short story, going through the usual rigmarole of getting it started and it was taking forever. But I wasn’t angsting about it. I just kept poking at it, making tiny progress until my time was up. When I went back to it the next day, it all fell into place and I started cranking the words out. Just like I expected.
That was the cool thing. I expected it. I used to stress about days like that, when the words wouldn’t come, or worse yet when they came in a rusted out Trans-Am, reeking of Hai Karate. Now I don’t. I know they are there, swirling around in the subconscious somewhere, sorting themselves out. I just have to poke at the keys for awhile until they’re ready. But I know it’ll happen eventually, and they’ll come rushing out.
They still occasionally show up in the Trans-Am though.
*Thought I should put that up there to explain what Hai Karate was. Which was a thing that really existed. As was that commercial. What the hell, 70’s? What the hell?