The writing doldrums . . .
Some days aren’t meant to be writing days, or if they are, the inspiration is so low that one seeks diversion. Time away from quill skill. So the dogs and I go to the beach. They do their obligatory sniff and so do I, although mine is just to breathe in the scent of waves, salt and seaweed with my nose twitching in the air, whilst theirs is at ground level. I look along the beach: 2 kilometres of white sand. And we do it, the dogs and I.
Some people dance with wolves, I run with dogs. It’s not something I do on a regular basis, being the person I am, but some days I have more to prove than a chapter that just won’t be edited or even written. I have to prove that I don’t give in and give up.
So I do leg stretches (sort of) and take a couple of deep breaths (of hope), spot a mark on the beach and say to myself, Right, if I can just run from here to there without fainting, it means I’ll have some quill skill back when I get home! And the dogs and I run. Between them they have 8 legs and they fly across the sand, grinning at me, mocking. I’ve only got two legs and their cheek hits home as the breath burns in my chest.
But I make it to the mark, as metaphorical as that may be in my writing life, and the left Achilles tendon is screaming whilst the right calf-muscle swears in its sailor’s best. But we’ve done it, the dogs and I. We’ve run. And by our 10 pawed calculations, it means there’s words waiting to be birthed at home. And I wonder as we turn about, if Donald Maass would say this is a sure-fire way of lifting the writing doldrums.
Eloquent. Very eloquent. I tend to shamble, myself.