~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
I’ve never understood those writers who could wake up and will themselves to write. Even when I’ve had the luxury of endless days without job or obligation, there were so many times when I simply couldn’t do it – and wouldn’t waste the time trying.
This is a difficult project. I don’t like dwelling in the past or being haunted by the ghosts of the dead. It is depressing work, heavy work. I sing show tunes in the car as loud as possible to shake out of the stupor. A silly lunch with co-workers is a welcome respite. It is easy at such times to let go and slide down that hill, and there is such a short distance from here to there. In a truly despondent state, I don’t write.
I’m not there yet.
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