A PERFECT MORNING TO WRITE
The sun is peaking over the pasture turning the sky a bright orange and purple. As I open the dining room curtains, a clump of bunny rabbits scatter. I start the coffee pot and drop some cat food into the dish to quiet the meows. While the gurgling sounds and rich smells swirl around the peaceful house, I put clothes into the washing machine.
Settling in at the computer, I gather my supplies around me. Submission guidelines, spiral to jot an outline of the first draft, pen, interview notes, and sample magazines to determine style and slant. This feature article is going to be brilliant! Thank goodness for productive Saturday mornings.
My purple pen runs out of ink. I ALWAYS write the first draft in purple. I search for fifteen minutes, but there’s not another purple pen anywhere in the house. Fine. I’ll use blue.
Several cups of coffee later, it’s going well but I’m hungry and I hear my husband rattling around in the kitchen. Time to cook breakfast.
Back to the story, until an awful smell assaults my nose. The new to our house, stray kitten has just taken a poop in the potted plant next to my desk. I clean that out, and while I’m at it, decide to empty the kitty litter box too and take it all to the trash. The brisk walk and morning air rejuvenates me.
Back inside, the oldest is awake and drinks the last of the coffee. I brew more and then the washing machine buzzer goes off, so I transfer everything into the dryer.
Finally, back to the story.
With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, my head is buzzing (possibly from creativity, mostly from caffeine).
Our youngest is awake and turns on the television. He and his dad discuss a movie they watched the night previous over the blaring noise of the TV.
I can drown out the voices. That’s nothing new, but then I hear the dogs whining. They want their morning chewie. Delivered, with a pat on the head.
Deep breath, and I settle into my chair at the computer.
Oldest pokes his head around the corner, “Have you seen my car keys?” I join the search. Finally, success. He’s on his way with instructions, “Drive safe. See you later.” My husband leaves too.
I can feel the productivity oozing from my veins. This is going to be an unbelievable article. I settle into my chair, flitter through my notes to get back on track, reread what I have so far, and type a few words.
Youngest son pokes his head around the corner, “What’s for lunch?”
There’s always tomorrow.
Writer’s Truth: When your purple pen runs out of ink, it’s only going downhill from there.