Rose’s hand stroked his cheek. “Ohhh, Penn. This well-fed English…
The stars faded as I turned from the gravel lane in towards the house. Brown faded grass stalks glowed in the late August sunrise. It was going to be a cooker today. Ravens already strutted in the water spilling from a horse trough in the paddock across the way. Gotta go, daydreaming again.
Inside, I sorted through the few folders on the desk. Folded lined legal sheets of notes for different projects, printouts with scribbling on the piece of my work in progress from the last critique session.
Coffee would be a few minutes. Gives me a little time to decide what to do.
It was a good walk, feeling like a wolf amongst words. It would be good to maybe work on a short piece. Chew up some sentences and get them on the screen. Do something satisfying and complete before getting back at the book.
Windows up, the morning floating around. It’s easier to write for me in the summer. Or at least, I have a better attitude towards it when the rain hasn’t been pounding down for weeks.
No wind, everyone still asleep or inside. It’s quiet, and even the horses are still chewing away, not running around.
Swallowed the last of the oatmeal and set the coffee cup on the desk, it’s time to write.
Ah, the cat noticed I was free for a moment. Got her distracted with a charging cable hanging from the edge of the desk. Now, it’s time to write.
Hmm, five-hundred words on the writing life. Man, haven’t got a clue what to write about that. Well, wolfman, this is the chance. I’ve already chucked three false starts, so this might be the right time. And I did promise to send it in tonight. Laugh. Yeah, I should probably do this thing.
Maybe I should see what Nikos Kazantzakis says about the topic. I always seem to find inspiration in his words. I also promised myself that this would be as real as I can get it. No cheating. Dang.
Some music would be good. Get my groove on. Typing with rhythm, that’s the ticket. Dylan’s ‘One More Cup of Coffee’ that should be stark enough.
It’s important to get right at writing. No distractions. Only work on one piece at a time. Multi-tasking doesn’t work. Pets are unnecessary. Close yourself off in a room and don’t let anyone in. Shut the curtains. You don’t want Leonard Cohen’s ‘Dance Me to the End of Love’ playing in the background. And certainly, Miles Cameron’s ‘Cold Iron’ shouldn’t be sitting on the desk. Great book.
Everyone has their own way to write. I know mine is more than a little haphazard. For instance, I will probably be a few words short of five-hundred, but that’s alright.
Time to run it through Grammarly.