So my writer self came to the door again today and I invited her inside.

We sat on the deck, and we talked about getting on with the process of researching my next story.

HER:

“So the kids have been back at school for a week now and you’re not doing as much as I thought you would.”

“Should you shoot for a time of day and work for that long?”

“What about just setting up your computer and sitting down in front of it, that would make it easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Yesterday, you did everything but write. I saw you washing stains out of the carpets, old stains, really old stains. How will you ever make any progress with those? Then you washed your kids bedroom walls, and what else, you moved pots around the garden, and tidied up the front step. I thought you might do some more procrastinating today, so I thought I’d better come over.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to get in the way. I’ll leave you to it but I’m coming back later, just to check on you.”

HER LATER VISIT:

“Oh my, the writer has entered the building. Looks at all these papers and they actually have fresh writing on them, dated with todays date at the top. Well done you. I knew you could do it.”

“No this looks like the beginning of a plot plan. 4 pages too, that’s mighty fine.”

She crossed her legs. Took a sip of her tea and smiled.

After she left, I went outside and found a few minutes of really burning sun to sit in front of. My legs burned in my black jeans and I felt great. Alive. Hopeful. Happy. Now that is a good day. Now, that is progress, friends.