I learned something about myself today; I cannot compose on the computer.
It’s true. Something about the capacity to irretrievably delete text makes my brain melt and my ability to form intelligent, interesting sentences goes b-b-b-buh-bye. I have been writing down ideas to turn into snippets, poems, short stories, articles, posts, novellas, novels, epic texts, or volumes of any of these, but when I try to type it up… *poof*
Apparently I need the scrawling, scribbled out pages of unworthy text to sift through for the diamonds in the rough.
Also, taking care of a high-energy fifteen-month-old who likes to jump, climb, throw, tumble, run, dance, and cause an all around ruckus leaves me quite exhausted at the end of the day. After the Bubs finally knocks out, all I usually have the energy for is to space out on technology.
That all stops now!
Like a giant nerd I have established a curriculum to keep myself on task. Alternating weeks of working on fiction and non-fiction, with weekends saved especially for reading. And what a task just the reading shall be! I have three non-fiction books on the go (Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women by Elizabeth Wurtzel; Kids Are Worth It by Barbara Coloroso; and Writer Mama by Christina Katz), as well as one novel (Under The Dome Part 1 by Stephen King), and oodles of magazines. Since deciding to give professional writing a serious shot I have subscribed to no less than five magazines, and purchased upwards of twenty.
I also traded in my office chair for one of those posture balls, because bouncing is fun.