**Below is a typical day record of a tiresome writer-to-be on a rainy Sunday morning–you know–a time when She’s forgotten to visit me :(.
7:00 AM. Start with a large mug of coffee. Smell it. Smell it one more time. Inhale the warm, rusty aroma blended with a creamy twist. Inhale all the way from the kitchen. Walk past rooms. Open a door. Check on the cat. Open Self’s room’s door. Shuffle in. Desk is ready. Laptop is on, screen opens to a blank, unwritten landscape. Keep mind clear and excited. Because Writing is bliss. Self proudly thinks.
8:00 AM. Reading bookmarked blogs, hoping for inspiration, hoping to come across a beautiful, inspiring passage. Coffee mug is drained. So is Self’s Writing Juice. Back to the screen again. Author A has just updated; gleams of cloudscape photography glow on Self’s screen. Beautiful. Remind to stay focused now. Scroll down. “She remains as she is–fickle and feckless.” Somebody is complaining about her muse. Not so inspiring. Also did not like the writing. Self hits “close”. Self browses Author B. Self uses to like the author’s writing, it’s so deep and dark and scathingly philosophical. But so not the mood I want for now. Self clicks on yet another blog. Too practical. This is like business writing!
An muffled scream sears across Self’s chest like red-hot iron. Too many DISTRACTIONS: the pile of dishes staggering atop the oil-tainted sink, the empty fridge and subsequently self’s empty stomach. The broken desk lamp.They’re parading the dimensions of Self’s mind. DISTRACTIONS. Self panics officially.
8:30 AM. Digging up old essays written by Self. Some inspiration and self-esteem start to trickle back to that secret closet in Self’s mind.
Essay will be, again, about Modernization. Self hates Modernization. And prefers Childhood. Distraction: Childhood is like a Puzzle with candy prizes.
8:45 AM. Words: 110. Start to crave for good words. I can never write like them. Those writers with vivacious, youthful voices that just bloom and ooze with aqueous imagination. Why do I want to write like them? Distractions again, obviously. Distractions are tiresome.
Start to crave for some sleep.
Reflection: 0 %
Essay is 80% happy.
Reassuring Self that if this sucks now, it will not necessarily suck later. Reassuring that being focused is good.
10:00 AM. Self may want some snacks.
10:45 AM. A Skype message flashes. Call from Mom/ Close or Answer. Distraction.
Me: Mom, I’m writing an essay.
Her: I know. Just a minute. Listen, important, Aunt Ann called…(rumbling noises of her opening a bag of chips)…She said you…
Self panics from the inside. There are ancient emails to reply, books to read, an economic project that has been overdue and this essay which could take a whole Sunday. Most importantly, Self as just been rescued from the Horrible Block and is wanting to write so desperately now. In her mind, Self imagines this white room where everything was white from the wallpaper to furniture and there were just Self and the Keyboard.
11:15 AM. The most painful part: trimming. Don’t want to leave out anything. Self loves all these descriptions, all the beautiful sentiments so beautifully expressed, the rising of rhythm and crafting of words that has been done to almost perfection. It’s such a devastation.
12:00 AM. Leave for brunch. There’s this new restaurant on Buford Highway that has real, authentic chinese food. It is a little crowded on Sundays but a perfect place for Self to take refuge from that horrible room. Try to eat slower to stay longer. When coming back, Self tries not to look at the fish tank (which has been caked in filth for weeks!).
2 PM. Make another giant coffee mug and obediently sit to desk. Manage to open Essay and not cringe at the paragraphs. DO NOT read what’s been written. Begin afresh. Sip coffee. No distractions for now.
Self is sure.
2:20 PM. Start with a gigantic mug of coffee…