I got up this morning, made a cup of coffee, and sat down at my computer with my anticipation level off the charts.
You see, today I will write.
My program so far has been filled to the brim with prep work. Story arcs, character development, pacing, plot, etc. I have been soaking in the elements of a good story, totally immersed to the point that at times I thought I might drown.
Oh, I’ve done writing of course. Plenty of it. But it was homework writing. Writing for a professor to grade. Writing to prove I understood a concept. Writing to show I had grasped the latest lesson.
I don’t consider that real writing. Real writing raises my endorphins, fills me with joy, and makes me feel that the world is a glorious and wonderful place.
As I sit here prolonging the suspense, stretching out that first moment when I put fingers to keyboard, I realize just how much I have missed my regular writing sessions. It feels like I am coming home.
Darn it! I’m out of coffee. I guess I’ve stretched out the anticipation a tad too long. I need to go make another cup.
And then I write.