Uffda. (Yep, I'm from Minnesota.) It was quite a week. There's nothing like being interrupted every.single.time I sat down at the keyboard. Not exaggerating. When they say that writing isn't for wimps, they mean it.
Now, I've read "The War of Art" so I know about resistance. This was nothing new to me. The battle for solitude in writing is bloody fierce. I fought all week with no real progress.
Resistance's opponent, however, is persistence.
And that, I am.
I wonder if all successful writers change their middle name to persistence? (With a capital P, of course.)
So much of writing is also about expectations. Expectations are intriguing, wiry little fellows. They seem to flit around like hummingbirds, never staying long enough for one's liking.
The thing about expectations is to hold them lightly. Like fragile birds held too tightly, you may inadvertently squeeze the life out of them. Give them space. Hold them loosely.
Unmet expectations can cause frustration. Rather than give up, however, I lowered my expectations. I had hoped to initially peck off three pages of writing. Instead, I doled out a few paragraphs.
But guess what? That's not failure. That's not lame. That's persistence. I just wanted to write. And I did. Here's to a new week of writing. Persistence on, people!