I turned back to the bedroom when I realized I had forgotten my slippers.

After sliding them on, I took the laptop desk from the family room to the three-season porch. I grabbed one of the dining room chairs and placed it at the desk.

I plugged in my charger cord and booted the machine up for my day of writing. Finally, a day with nothing else on my plate that had to be done – get back to that novel…

When the password prompt appeared on the screen, I keyed it in and waited for the system to open up.

Clicking on the Word icon, I scrolled to the work in progress and began reading. It would save me a lot of time if I didn’t find myself re-reading it each time I opened it up, but here I go… tweaking page one…again.

When I got to the last written page of the manuscript, I stared at the new chapter heading for a moment.

I need a cup of coffee, I can’t write without a fresh cup.

While in the kitchen I loaded the dishwasher, washed the pan from last night and wiped down the counter.

Back to the laptop, I took a drink of coffee – I realized it was cold.

“Shoot,” I muttered, I walked back to the kitchen and placed the cup into the microwave for 20 seconds to warm it back up.

In my chair again, I poised to type on the keyboard when the cat meowed behind me.

“What’s wrong, Bailey? You hungry?” I got up to feed the cat only to find the bag was empty. I walked to the garage door to get a fresh bag and noticed the 40 pound bag of dog food my wife had purchased last night next to the shelf. I carried the big bag down to the basement and dumped it into the Rubbermaid container where we stored the dog food.

I came back in to hear Bailey’s cries again. While I filled up his bowl, he looped around my legs in a figure eight.

I returned to the laptop and sat down to type.

“Where is that crime scene book I bought?” I walked to the bedroom and located it on my bedside table. I came back to the three-season porch, sat down at the computer and began to flip through the pages.

I looked up and saw the birds flying from tree to tree – the windows were closed, so I got up to open them. “A breeze always gets my juices flowing,” I thought to myself.

The intercom buzzed behind me. “You ready for lunch, honey?”

I got up and punched the button to let my wife know that I would start reheating the pizza from last night. “Give me three minutes and it will be ready,” I called out.

As the microwave spun the pizza around, I stepped into the family room and turned the television on to “People’s Court” – we always watched it at lunch time.

My wife appeared at the top of the stairs, “How’s the writing going?”

“I haven’t been able to get started yet.”


“Oh, I had to find my new research book, then I had to feed the cat…I loaded the dog food in the container for you…You know how it is.”


Once lunch was done and my wife headed back to her downstairs office, I sat down at the computer again with a renewed resolve to get some writing done.

After I looked at my emails, I jumped on Facebook to see what my friends were posting, then to twitter. A post by an agent that I followed: “Why writers will do anything to keep from writing.”

“What a stupid blog post,” I thought.

“Of course, writers write.” I got up to get some iced tea.