By Naomi Kinsman
To be honest, I haven't much felt like writing recently. My brain feels like a sponge that someone used to wash off an ATV after a day in the mud, which was subsequently jumped on by a flock of kids while they played in the sprinkler, and then wrung out half-heartedly and left to dry in the sun.
I could list all sorts of reasons for this feeling, but none of them would be very interesting. Deadlines and piles of work and end-of-school year madness, and on and on. But I've learned that when I've got that used-up feeling, writing is the only solution. Word by word by word, I find my way back to energy and enthusiasm.
I know this. I know writing is the answer. And still, I find it difficult to sit down, to tap into those words and put them, one after another, onto the page. So I bribe myself.
I tell myself that if I write a page, then I can walk to the corner coffee shop and pick up a latte. I promise myself that if I write a chapter, I can take out my colored pencils and sketch for a while. And after a few stuttering starts, words begin flowing again. They come slowly, but I feel my energy flickering beneath the surface, becoming more lively with each word. Some morning, very soon, I won't need to bribe myself anymore. I'll bound out of bed, down the stairs to my desk. And until I do, I'll keep all of my promises to myself.
Do you think that's a page? Hard to tell on a blog post. Close enough, I say. Time for that latte!