Precipice

I woke up this morning in the middle of a conversation with one of my characters. I savored the talk...I like the man...and when I got up, I was on fire to begin writing the first chapter of Tale of the Tiger.

I got up and got dressed, mulling over this first conversation in my mind.

I found my copy of The Bridge Across Forever, then rediscovered my twenty-five year old copy of A Gift of Wings, which I set out on my coffee table to read later.

I realized that I'll need to do laundry today, so I sorted some of the dirty clothes, and loaded the laundry basket.

It was still too early to start the washer, so I went to the Vons to get a cup of coffee and a bite to eat for breakfast.

When I got home, I checked e-mail, replied to a post in one of the flight simulation forums I frequent, and read a couple posts in another forum while I ate my breakfast.

I fired up the sim and did some flying, not for fun, but for the photo opportunity. I'll be making some title art for Tale of the Tiger, and I needed a few screen shots to work with. The flying part added another .7 hours to my log book.

And now, I am writing this post.

Really, the things I will do to avoid sitting down to actually write.

Richard Bach wrote in his essay It is said that we have ten seconds, "...the only time I can write is when some idea is so scarlet-fierce that it grabs me by the neck and drags me thrashing and screaming to the typewriter. I leave heel marks on the floors and fingernail scratches in the walls every inch of the way."

This morning, I know exactly how that feels.

I love the creative process, the feel of writing, the way my fingers flow over the keys, the soft clickety-clack of the keyboard as my thoughts move from someplace other through my mind and out my fingers to become perceptible shapes on the screen.

It's the starting I hate.

What must a bird feel, standing on the edge of its nest, wings outstretched tentatively, with the unfamiliar beckoning touch of the wind ruffling its feathers?

I'll get there.