I write this sitting in the kitchen sink……….”.Nope. No good.. Not “hook” enough for an opening line” I huff to myself. Who am I kidding, at this point, any opening line would be appropriate. Just typing something on the screen that doesn’t make me want to hit the “delete” key would be good.
The “Writers Block Brigade” has been waging war against me for the past week and a half and I just can’t seem to get the opening line of the novel right. I tried all the tricks of the trade. Sitting at my computer in my office, shades drawn – to hide all outside distractions, soft New Age music playing in the background – something obscure and abstract, that doesn’t start my toes a-tapping, making me want to get up and dance around the room, and all dogs outside – so I don’t get sidetracked with one of them wanting to play catch or get a tummy rub. One would think those little things would do the trick…. not. So I moved to the outdoors……
Outdoors… Well, this was a really stupid move. Why do I feel like the dog in the movie “UP”. Way too many wondrous things going on. (Squirrel !!) Birds chirping, dogs romping and computer batteries going dead. My fingers had been on point for so long, like a pianist preparing to start a Beethoven sonata, that the screen kept going to sleep on me. Of course that meant changing the settings became a necessity, but not remembering how that was done, a search for the instruction booklet ensued, with no success. By the time I returned, dead batteries: the hunt for an extension cord took up the rest of the afternoon, which of course by that time it was getting dark and time to come inside. “sigh”
So today a new tact. I find myself sitting in the sink, trying a really off the wall place, thinking that the bizarreness of it will jump start something in my pea brain and and a wondrous, new and improved (like a laundry detergent ad) idea will pop out. My knees are drawn up almost to my chin ( it’s a pretty small sink) but there is room enough for the laptop and taking no chances, the extension cord is plugged into the wall socket. Dogs are banished to the porch with their bowls of breakfast and all outside potential distractions have been silenced. I have restricted myself to only one cup of caffeine, so as not to encourage my usual psycho energy, and I am ready to begin: The Great American Novel…Chapter 1….TA, DA.
Wait, wait….what is that I spy out of the corner of my eye? …my ole bread machine. How did it get way up there on the top of the counter? “I haven’t made homemade bread in a long time”, I think to myself. I start humming softly…..Rye, Sourdough perhaps a raisin cinnamon? Oh My God, I’m hungry. I can’t work on an empty stomach. Suddenly there is a knock on the door, which alerts the dogs, who proceed to raise a ruckus…the phone starts to ring – even though I’m on the damn Do Not Call list… and once again I realize the daily opening volley from my internal opposing Brigade begins.
I raise my hands in surrender and make a command battlefield decision…today I’ll make bread…..tomorrow I’ll try the basement.
Take it Away, Tuesday :
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.