There are some who may not believe this: but I sometimes hit a wall when it comes to writing. Take this past week. I wrote several nights straight, sometimes after church meetings even, and subsequently rose early the next morning to pick up where I left off. I can often do this for some days in a row. But then I hit a wall. Or, I should say, the wall hits me.
I'm at a wall now. I've got my list of chapter headings, essay themes, story topics and more . . . all staring at me, mocking me. "When are you going to pay attention to me?" they are asking. But I tell my writing list: "First I must pay attention to my wife. She needs to be cuddled, comforted . . . smooched, even. I need to cook her a meal. She also requires that I clean the toilets and bring her caviar on a cracker. She is my soul mate and back in 1984 I told her I loved her and intend to say it again some time in 2011. And if I play my cards right, she might give me an early Christmas present."
I think of these things when I hit my writing wall. I hate to have these conversations with my writing list, but Becky must know the truth.
It's a good thing, seeing as how I wrote my writing list on the back of the grocery list. I see I've got to pick up some nutmeg, baking soda, and cat litter. Lord . . . we have a cat?
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