The Chainsaws are not in my brain, Thank God!

It's in the high 90's in the Northwest -- and up here in the hills, it seems even hotter. I'm sitting in my office with the cheapo version of an air conditioner (bowl of ice poised in front of drugstore fan) which leaves a lot to be desired.

Thankfully, and I hope it's not just a fake-out respite, the neighbor has stopped chainsawing whatever he was chainsawing in his driveway. Oh, happy day. For a moment there with the heat, I was beginning to wonder if it would ever end, or if it was all in my head.

So, I'm working again. It felt awkward this last week to force myself into the chair in which I'd written so many pages of words, and find it uncomfortable. But I guess that's what a month away can do; the body becomes unfamiliar with the contours of the chair, the fingers and wrists a little creaky on the keyboard.

And the familiar thoughts when beginning a new work surface like silvery fry, waiting to be fed. Can I do it again? When will I feel the magic? When will I hit the groove and get that confidence in my story? It's scary. But the scariness is what makes it work. What makes it something not everyone who wants to do it can do.

So, I cracked open a fresh goals/page journal this afternoon, dutifully recorded the week's word count (embarrassingly low, so I won't post yet) and I'm back to working on the character sketches, the goal, motivations, & conflicts (which, by my mentioning is totally not an excuse for me to grab Deb Dixon's book off the shelf and re-read as a diversion).

I'm excited about re-energizing myself next week at the conference, but I also know that writing energy has to come from myself as well. It's me who's at the desk alone each night, creating life from thoughts. So, I'll do a few push-ups, make a coffee, answer my emails, put on sparkly eye shadow if I feel like it, crank up the music, and write into the void. The only way to make it work is to write through the fear. This I know for sure.