A week not so bleak as imagined, the paradoxical existence of a writer

There has been precious little word from me on the writing front since last week as I spent the weekend, first in preparation and planning and then in implementation of a tailgate event for, yes, a Spring game. Nothing more than a glorified scrimmage that more closely resembled a split squad spring training baseball game, it was, nonetheless, an opportunity to gather with some friends, laugh, and enjoy the social part of our human existence.

I think too often we get so engaged with the seriousness of our craft, writing, that we forget to enjoy those little things all around. Friends. Flowers. Pets. Loved ones. Food. Beverage. Those things that we can enjoy and mostly do, yet too frequently take for granted.

On my first two books, I gave myself deadlines and timelines. I worked very hard at completion and then let the excitement of completion take over. While there was a place for that, this current project has different needs. It is like these are all children and my current baby is different; it needs a kind of care that allows it to grow a little less planned and considerably less structured. it is like a wildflower. When it blooms it is just as pretty, maybe even more so, than that flower which we plant and grow for a specific time and reason.

It also allowed me to take the weekend and spend it drinking beer with friends, cooking hamburgers on the grill and making up silly one-liner jokes that are funnier in a single momentary release of splendor than they will ever be on second telling. This further allows a bit of self-reflective angst about having not written a single word in my current project since last week.

It is okay that I have not done so no matter how much the gut feels like it has been punched and kicked with my lack of productivity. I love people watching on occasion, but, damn, I have got to be part of those being watched on occasion. Let loose. Have fun. Be irreverent. Stop watching and start being. Then again, I am somewhat weird in that I have spread myself very thin and thrive on that at times, yet miss the irresponsibility of youth.

I did not write last week. But, you know what, I think I may have become a better writer by this lack of activity. Now, time to get back to the task at hand, work a bit on the current project and see where the day leads.