I went back to the room when I realized that I had forgotten my slippers. After putting them on, I brought the laptop desk from the living room out to the three-season porch. I grabbed one of the dining room chairs and put it at the desk.
I plugged in the charger cable and turned the machine on for my day of writing. Finally, one day with nothing else on my plate that I had to do: go back to that novel…
When the password prompt appeared on the screen, I entered it and waited for the system to open.
Clicking on the Word icon navigated me to the work in progress and started reading. It would save me a lot of time if I didn’t find myself rereading it every time I open it, but here I go… adjusting page one… again.
When I got to the last written page of the manuscript, I stared at the title of the new chapter for a moment.
I need a cup of coffee, I can’t write without a new cup.
While I was in the kitchen I loaded the dishwasher, washed the skillet from last night, and wiped down the counter.
Going back to the laptop, I took a sip of my coffee, realizing it was cold.
“Shoot,” I muttered, going back to the kitchen and placing the mug in the microwave for 20 seconds to warm it up again.
Back in my chair, I was about to type on the keyboard when the cat meowed behind me.
“What’s up Bailey? Are you hungry?” I got up to feed the cat and found that the bag was empty. I walked to the garage door to look for a new bag and noticed the 40 pound bag of dog food my wife had bought last night sitting next to the shelf. I took the big bag down to the basement and dumped it in the Rubbermaid bin where we keep the dog food.
I heard Bailey’s screams again. As he filled her bowl, he encircled my legs in a figure eight. I went back to the laptop and sat down to write.
“Where’s that crime scene book I bought?” I walked to the bedroom and placed it on my nightstand. I returned to the three-season porch, sat down at the computer, and began flipping through the pages.
I looked up and saw the birds flying from tree to tree: the windows were closed, so I got up to open them. “The breeze always gets my juices flowing,” I thought.
The intercom buzzed behind me. “Are you ready for lunch, honey?”
I got up and pushed the button to let my wife know I was going to start reheating the pizza from last night. “Give me three minutes and it’ll be done,” I yelled.
While the pizza was circling the microwave, I went into the living room and turned on the TV to “People’s Court”, we always watched it at lunchtime.
My wife appeared at the top of the stairs, “How’s the writing going?”
“I haven’t been able to start yet.”
“Because?”
“Oh, I had to find my new research book, then I had to feed the cat… I loaded the dog food into the bin for you… You know how it is.”
“Um-hmmm.”
Once lunch was over and my wife returned to her office downstairs, I sat down at the computer again with a renewed determination to write something. After looking at my emails, I jumped on Facebook to see what my friends were posting, then on to Twitter. A post from an agent I followed: “Why writers will do anything to avoid writing.”
What a stupid blog post, I thought.
“Of course, writers write.” I got up to get some iced tea.
