Brats of the Muse
Writing at least 30 minutes, five days a week. Mostly I'm intensely focused on the story I'm working on, reading the whole thing out loud, making notes, adding snippets, taking them out, putting them back in with shinier words. Mostly. Yesterday I wandered off and wrote this:

I am so hungry.

How can I write at a time like food?

My tummy is empty.

My tummy’s tummy is empty.

That is my baby.

His name is Elliott and he’s hungry too.

I don’t know what to write.

And my stomach opens,

Yawns itself wide.

It’s time to devour something and my stomach

Doesn’t even care.

So I don’t even care.

Give me something.

Give me it all.

As focused as I try to be when I'm in my writing time, sometimes I get hungry, or depressed, sad, anxious, or pissed, or just temporarily obsessed with something else, whatever. I've found that in order to have a chance at a successful writing session, I have to deal with these things when they won't shut up on their own. And the best way to deal with them is to open a new document and write them down in whatever form they come out in. Whatever thoughts are blooming up and choking out my brain with their distracting colors and perfumes, they are not to be ignored, so I bow to them, indulge them, and then pat them on the head, ask them, "Ok, are you done now? We can bake some cookies together later. But now I have to get back to work."

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