shut up and write

I'm in a race to write a book,
getting things in order before I sit down in front of the computer
or splay myself on the bed with the three-ring binder and pen.
I need concentrated time, uninterrupted.
I want to get all of the interruptions out of the way,
bedtime,
breakfast,
sending pictures of my Paris trip to my mother,
journaling,
blogging,
and work.
If work comes, I'll do that first.
I want work; I need the money.
If work comes, it takes precedent over writing.
Unfortunately, that's just the way it is.

I don't have far to go to finish this book,
but I feel like I'm forever away from the end.
I'm still in the midst of first draft land here,
but so much of it is done,
so I'm really just filling in the blanks.
I don't even have to do a top notch job with it,
just get it out,
there will be time later to fix the stuff that doesn't work.
But that's not the way my mind works.
I'm forever fixing,
perfecting,
rewriting
even as I'm writing,
thinking about stuff down the line that might oughta be changed,
picturing the finished product,
the proud responses,
the surprised reactions,
the not-so-surprised.

But now I need to take a shower.
And it's a shaving day.
And I keep clicking the Refresh key on the laptop to see if any work has come.
And there's breakfast dishes to do,
and laundry,
and the mailbox to check,
and just a little downtime to think.
And then yoga,
and improv.
How did it get so complicated?

I did do a little writing last night,
after everything else.
I got through a little more than a page,
typed up something I had written longhand.
It was good; I'm happy with it.
I could have gone on for a couple of pages more,
easily,
typing up what I had written,
but I was distracted,
thinking about this, that, and the other thing;
checking email,
looking for a recipe for a friend in need,
going hither and yon,
pulled away
all the while wishing I had more time to write.
I was tired so I didn't want to commit too much time to writing.
Chapter 24, "Sin City."
It's a good one.
I'm just getting geared up for it.
This is one of the ones I wrote ages ago,
part of the very original draft,
something pulled from real life
so it's practically effortless.
But I have to work it into the lives of the characters,
who are not real life.
Not really.
They're in my head and so vivid they seem real.
Sometimes I catch myself doing loving-kindness meditation for the characters I've created.
Which I guess is okay;
I guess it's like doing meditation for myself,
the many facets of me.

But I'd rather be writing than meditating.
I'd rather be writing than doing so many other things.
But then, when it gets right down to it,
it is really hard.
Just me and the piece of paper,
waiting for the inspiration.
Come on, come on...

--Oops! There's work to do.