I drive to The Beanery through rain, wind and sunshine.
Order my drink.
Open the story.
Listen to conversations. Music. Watch people, the traffic, clouds and trees. Stare at the far gray mountains.
I haven't walked much this month. Looking at my calendar, I've only walked four times, and this month's total is less than eleven miles.
Deep breath now. Shake this out. Return to the story.
Yes, so many will denigrate the written bleatings of another struggling writer, coping with his angst, self-indulgently whining about his world, his life, his lot.
So you are perfect. No, you're not perfect, but you don't whine. You accept what has happened and you go on.
Good for you.
Yes, sorry, storm clouds are momentarily darkening my thinking. The flimsy structures of affirmations, mantras, dreams and objectives have collapsed.
Read some published stories this week and I winced at them. Not great writing, not great story telling. Most were uneven.
But those stories are published.
Yes, more bleating.
Return to the story.
Come on, write.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com