Sunday Scribblings Post-Prompt "Health"
Health
I'm trying to write my latest project, but things aren't going as well as I wish they were. I know where I want the story to go, but getting the characters to get there feels more like trying to pick up a raw egg yolk. Theoretically, it's completely possible. In actual practice, it's just going to end up a gooey and ultimately frustrating mess. The problem is that even though I recognize that I'm not actually being productive, I'm too stubborn to give up just because it isn't working.
I stare at my computer screen and type a couple of sentences, which I promptly delete. I've tried switching out my music in the hopes that a different soundtrack will provide some much needed inspiration and get things rolling again. I've made myself tea, had several glasses of water, and gotten the mail. Still, I'm not willing to give in yet.
He knows when the writing isn't going well. It's obvious. So, I'm not surprised when he comes into the room to see if I can be interrupted or not. As soon as I look up at him, he just comes over to me and puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Wanna go into town and grab some fries and a Coke?” He asks, sweetly.
I hit save, even though I haven't typed any actual words that I've been willing to leave on the page in more than an hour before looking up at him and answering, sincerely, “I would love that.”
We get into the car and listen to the Eagles “Greatest hits 1971-75” album on the way in. I find myself ridiculously grateful that I have someone around to help me keep my mental health intact as well as he does.
I'm trying to write my latest project, but things aren't going as well as I wish they were. I know where I want the story to go, but getting the characters to get there feels more like trying to pick up a raw egg yolk. Theoretically, it's completely possible. In actual practice, it's just going to end up a gooey and ultimately frustrating mess. The problem is that even though I recognize that I'm not actually being productive, I'm too stubborn to give up just because it isn't working.
I stare at my computer screen and type a couple of sentences, which I promptly delete. I've tried switching out my music in the hopes that a different soundtrack will provide some much needed inspiration and get things rolling again. I've made myself tea, had several glasses of water, and gotten the mail. Still, I'm not willing to give in yet.
He knows when the writing isn't going well. It's obvious. So, I'm not surprised when he comes into the room to see if I can be interrupted or not. As soon as I look up at him, he just comes over to me and puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Wanna go into town and grab some fries and a Coke?” He asks, sweetly.
I hit save, even though I haven't typed any actual words that I've been willing to leave on the page in more than an hour before looking up at him and answering, sincerely, “I would love that.”
We get into the car and listen to the Eagles “Greatest hits 1971-75” album on the way in. I find myself ridiculously grateful that I have someone around to help me keep my mental health intact as well as he does.