Writing–sidebar on the working process

Writing–man, some days the voices aren't there, are they? 

Or the energy isn't there.  Or the need to go to that place where you can hear the voices loudly and clearly, where they provide the energy, and you can just slide into the zone.

I thought I'd be energized and rarin' to go after Rob and Emily left, expected that their visit would just lift me up and keep me flying right into that zone.  But here's the thing.  I miss having them here, miss the coming and going, miss the noise–although they're both so quiet that "noise" isn't the right word!

So I'm wading back into the icy waters of work.  You know, edging in, dreading the cold shock, holding my breath.

And outside, oh, outside my window, there's this perfect day calling me to come out and smell it, breathe it in, bathe in its colors.

If I were a surgeon, I wouldn't be looking out my window, would I?  If I were still teaching, I'd be racing around the room checking all kinds of things out, boogieing along at ninety miles an hour instead of sighing gustily and wishing I were outside digging in the dirt.

Well.  Back to work, huh?  Yeah.  Back to work.  Maybe I should pull the shade down. 

But I didn't.

Should have.

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