This morning, I sat in my swivel chair with this computer on the desk in front of me. The page, the first of a new chapter, was blank. Usually, when I end a chapter I write one or two sentences of the new chapter, which makes it easier to get going the next day. 'Look at that! Wow! I already started!' I wished I had written even one sentence before I stopped yesterday. But I didn't.
Consequently, I sat and stared and thought, and perused the photos and sea shells and stones I've collected from various places of importance. Then I sat some more. And looked at everything again. And checked the time. I shifted in my chair so I would be more comfortable sitting and thinking about things that had nothing to do with writing the next chapter of my novel. Nothing whatsoever.
Many authors suggest that the most important thing you can do as a writer is to plant your butt in the chair whether you have something to say or not. The discipline of showing up each day is vital. If that is the case, then today I succeeded beyond measure!
If words had come, though, it would have been an even greater success.
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