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.”

“Why?”

“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.”

“Umm-hmmm.”

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.


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