This morning, I’ve been chatting to myself, often aloud, the sort of conversation that one has with oneself when collecting the washing, unloading the dishwasher whatever. Telling myself, in fact more warning myself, that I’ve got to sit down today during the allocated time to finish the WIP as planned. Nothing – absolutely nothing - short of a natural disaster outside my front door, is to stop me.
My allocated time to write today is quite generous. There’s a three hour window between 3-6pm and I know exactly what I have to do. I appear to be back on track, though I take nothing for granted. I have a feeling in my tummy that’s more excitement than anxious knawing, so I’m hopeful the words will flow. It’s been a good morning, one where ideas and scenes have been germinating. But past experience has also taught me that come three o’clock, I may chew my nails, look out the window, wonder where the hoover is, or like I’m expecting to, crack my knuckles and formulate actual words from the morning’s seeds.
I love this feeling. That frisson of excitement when time has been put aside for doing something I’m passionate about. It’s like the early stages of a love affair. You sort of know what to expect, or at least know what you’re hoping for, but at the same time, there lurking at the back of your mind is the possibility that all may not go well.
Today’s post is a short one. I have figured over the years that I have only so many words to write per day, so I’m selfishly saving most of them for later. Wish me well between 3 and 6pm. I’m either going to be enjoying the love affair, looking forward to a happy future with my chapters, or wondering if that last colour wash is ready yet.