Remember that time I called this place a thought collection bin. Well, here goes.
Writers are supposed to do something called morning pages, where you push forward, writing whatever comes to mind and that clears your head for the day. I’ve never tried that before, so here’s an attempt:
Writer’s block isn’t supposed to exist. It’s supposed to be a matter of being willing to fail and having the wherewithal to keep going. There’s this saying: plumbers don’t get plumbing block, bankers don’t get banking block, accountants don’t get accounting block. And I tend to agree, that writer’s block is a luxury we afford ourselves. You can get stuck on a story, sure, but why not do something else and circle back.
And yet, here I am, trying to write just a couple morning pages and all I can muster is drivel about writer’s block.
Right now I’m drinking coffee, listening to really, really good, swaying music. And I can feel the caffeine starting to twist its way inside my head and I’m waking up. After sleep, you wake up and you’re still half there. One foot still dangling in that ether of the dream world. Now I’m all here. And I realize that I’ve started to put words down and there’s a long day ahead.
I love waking up. I hate the actual act, the climbing and rolling over. But I love knowing there is an entire day ahead of me. It’s why I don’t like to sleep either. I like being right here; how I feel tapping these keys. The feeling of coming to consciousness, and the day could be wide open. I guess that’s what morning pages are supposed to do. Break your brain out of the sleepy lock you might have put it in. Give it a chance to breathe and see what could be ahead.
The music is off. It’s a commercial on Spotify. I should really upgrade to premium.