Man, writing is a motherfucker! Yesterday I had four hours blocked off to make progress on my book.
I planned to write three introductions to the sections on EQ, Mindfulness, and Storytelling. I already had the outlines prepared, the ideas in my head for what I would say and how the pieces would flow. I pictured myself banging 'em out, taking a little break, and then going back in and cleaning them up.
But how it really went down was like this: I didn't write shit. Okay, I wrote a few lines here and there, and I reread and reread my outlines and my notes. But nothing came to me. Nothing inspirational, nothing creative, nothing meaningful.
I got up from the computer every two minutes. I played guitar, I looked out the window, I folded the blankets, I cleaned my desk, I checked my bank account balance online, I watched soccer highlights.
My family said I was in a funk last night. They were probably right. I went to bed early. I woke up early. I came down to the basement. I meditated for ten minutes. I opened up the computer and I tried again.
I just finished a twelve-hundred word introduction to the EQ section. It flowed. I made some edits. I cut some stuff. I added some stuff. I rearranged a few parts. I wordsmithed. I am happy with it.
Now for the other two sections. Wish me luck. . .