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The coffee shop is crowded today. There isn’t any point in even going inside. We hop back into our vehicles and head on over to Wal-Mart where there’s a small snack counter with seating in one of the front corners of their building. No one is in there except the clerk at the counter.
(Your dialogue is in purple. My dialogue is in green.)
The coffee isn’t quite as good but there are free creamer and sugar packs. There aren’t any free goodies so we splurge for donut sticks.
Everyone must be shopping at Big Lots this morning. I almost canceled this morning.
You peer at me as you stir the sugar into your coffee.
Don’t like me anymore? Was there something going on?
I like you fine; you know that. I’ve had a busy week. And all of it was my own doing. I was grappling with my writing the week before, actually for the past few weeks. This time last week it was disgusting. I’d write maybe one hundred fifty words, maybe up to two hundred, and then nothing, absolute void in the brain. I tried doing some chores, tried reading, even tried exercise. Nothing was working. My brain kept on taking unauthorized vacations.
You laugh, having to cover your mouth because you took a bite of donut. The French vanilla creamer is okay but not terrific. Still, I sip the coffee anyway and open the film surrounding my donut stick.
Sorry, but you are funny. Why are you having these problems all of asudden?
I think that it’s a case of me trying to be a pantser when I’m de facto a plotter–even if my stories are character-driven.
And why would this make you cancel our coffee time? Couldn’t wrap your head around it or something?
That’s what was happening a week ago. After I got home last Saturday from our coffee clutch, I wrestled with my conscience about what I wanted and what I need to do to get what I want. I read something Sharon Bonin-Pratt wrote–I don’t even remember if it was in her blog or in an email now. She said something to the effect that a writer has to figure out his/her own way of getting into the writing process; and once that’s done, the writer will get on with it. I know I have problems remembering so I need to take care of this annoyance to get what I want. The solution is sketches, summaries, and written research on anything having to do with my WiP–PERIOD.
One coffee isn’t enough for me. I pay for two more coffees, one for you and one for me, and carry them, along with more creamer and sugar packs, to our table seated against the opposite wall.
You’re still not explaining why you almost canceled.
I’m getting to it. I hid my yWriter within a folder on my Start page of Windows so I wouldn’t even consider trying to write on the story. I developed three new character sketches, did real research on the main location of the story, and wrote seven scene summaries this past week. I still have more research and character sketches to do. I need to write setting sketches, and do at least fourteen more scene summaries before I get the story out again. I’m a little hyped up about this despite how much I’d just love to tear into the story again. I got up at 5:30 yesterday AND this morning just to work on this stuff. I debated whether I wanted to stop so I could come have coffee with you. I was in that marvelous groove.
My mouth is dry. I take in three gulps of coffee before setting the plastic mega-cup down.
This took you all week to only get this much done?
Yes. It’s the research that takes the time. I changed the location from the original. It’s now set in a place I like better even though I’ve only spent a couple of hours there, and that was several years ago. I had to go get reacquainted by going through photos at Bing. I still haven’t read everything I’ve bookmarked about the town.
How long do you think you’ll take before you’re writing the story again?
At least another week, probably more like two. I don’t want to get lost somewhere along the way again. Something else is happening that I’m hoping will help.
What? Did you win a million dollars?
No, no. Back in May, husband offered to buy me a laptop. At the time, I didn’t think it was worthwhile to have. I was doing just fine waiting until he was off to work to do my writing in “the computer room”, our spare room. Now that I’m feeling this invigoration that is so bizarre to me, I realize I may need that quiet space when he’s home; or worse, when he’s asleep. This “computer room” of ours doesn’t have a door on it. It needs a whole new door frame before putting on a door. The other bedroom I use for sleeping when husband’s snoring is blaring is a better option. The laptop is a good idea all of asudden.
When do you get it?
It’s ordered and is supposed to be delivered by next Wednesday. I’m staying way from Hewlett-Packard. Husband’s PC is a HP and it’s a piece of crap. I opted for a Dell seeing that’s what my PC is.
Now then, what have you been doing?
Do you know how hard it is to find bicycle marathons not connected to some cause that’s overrated or shouldn’t need any more money for a while?
Seeing that I don’t ride a bike anymore, I can’t say that I do, but I’m sure you’ll tell me. Go on.
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“But this I know; the writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master — something that at times strangely wills and works for itself. If the result be attractive, the World will praise you, who little deserve praise; if it be repulsive, the same World will blame you, who almost as little deserve blame.” — Emily Bronte