I’ve spent ever so much time NOT WRITING this year. It’s totally exhausting.
So I think it may be time to NOT do something else, like not practice my ukulele, not rug hook, not paint, not write poetry, not exercise. It’s all about where your mind goes to beat yourself up when you are not paying attention, where you lodge your guilt, where you tell people you are spending your time but really do none of.
I’m tired of feeling guilty about writing.
Maybe readjusting my guilt focus will liberate my muse.
But I daren’t speak that out loud lest she hear and go hide under the shelves again so I have to wash them while I try to write.
She’s very clever, my muse, and ever so balky.
So, to keep her otherwise occupado, I plan to read a book a week (at least) and post about them on this blog. She’ll be distracted, looking for little nuggets to quote and such and will leave the rest of my creative mind alone, with any luck. That should let me wander about, pen in hand, and catch thoughts and edit and do all that writing type stuff. I have a bunch of things to tart up and submit and I can hide from her in those, too. Editing takes a different, more tight-assed muse who wields a pencil of massive proportions and an electric knife that cuts through wordiness like Frankenfurter sliced through Meatloaf.
But I do have a huge unread eclectic library to read, too. Watch these pages…my muse and I will take you on a tour.
Meanwhile, I think I’ll go and not practice my ukulele for a bit.