where the writers are
Ran Today

Jogged through a sunny cold 40 after I got off work today, pushing to move. Hard for me to dress for jogging any more, I start out cold, ready for it, overdressed, ending up too hot, down the hill, to the flat, back up the hill, three miles, nothing fast, just steady, keep going, don't think past the next step, I promise if you just get this next step out and the next one and you get to that telephone pole at the end of the block, you can stop. The sun is hiding behind a mountain, presenting a false image of dusk. Been awhile since I've last run, at least outside like this, on pavement, with cars going by and their nasty exhausts, and the muscles rise up, protestors in the streets. Restless with writing, the running is good, shouldn't call it running, it's jogging, but it's good to be out there, finding a new rythm by breaking out of a rut, looking for that stimulating change. 

It's not a block I cope with, but an intersection where the woods are dark and there is no moon, and it's a little scary and annoying. The path is muddy. A wind is blowing. Sounds surround me that I can't identify. I've been here but it's a strange place and seems alien, it always seems alien when I come back here. There's been a lot of late nights lately, just me and the laptop's light with a trio of cats sleeping nearby. Something awakens me as I sleep. It's the novel tapping at my psyche.  

Change comes before the first mile has ended. A direction is found. The novel flows anew, I know what I want to write. My body becomes forgotten for a while. I quit thinking about the book, too, replacing it with cee loo in my head, "I see you driving round town with the girl I love, and I say -- "

Arriving home, I shower, make some tea, sit down and type.

The process reminds me how much my writing affects my mood. Sometimes I need to pause to work out details. The world and I don't get along during those times. Everything sends me toward an edge. I'm cranky -- seven meetings scheduled, five meetings canceled, four at the last minute -- grrr, but that should make me happy, they've given time back to me. Not so when I'd rather be writing.

My legs are tight and sore already but it already feels so, so good. It will be another late night. I feel it coming, but this time I'm following a brightly lit path. Got to keep going while it stays lit.