This is the
chair where ideas stumble from my overcrowded brain and land on the white-page
screen of my MacBook. I discovered the surest way I would get them to make the
trip was if I forced myself to settle into this spot for writing and not leave
until writing happened.
Sure, staring
happens here too. And reading. And rereading. Deleting. Deciding. Sometimes
only a couple of sentences survive the brain-to-screen express. Sometimes the
topic changes trains mid-journey. Such as now, though writing about my writing
habits, my brain reminds me of the following grocery-store scene from a few
hours ago:
_____A
two or three-year-old girl sitting in the shopping cart in line ahead of me
says to her
mother, in an uh-oh-look-out tone: “I think I’m getting distracted.” Her mother
asks what is distracting her. “I think I’m getting distracted by those piñatas.”
I look over my shoulder and see dozens of the colorful candy holders hanging
above the bread aisle. The girl focuses on one in particular and tells it: “Hi
unicorn. I’ll be getting you for my birthday.”_____
If only I could
share this in her own precocious little voice.
So anyway, here
I sit writing. I slouch. I put my feet on the stool. I turn this way, that way.
My laptop starts burning my lap. I yawn. My fingers rest on the keys. I look at
the keys and think about cleaning them. I need to clean the floor too. The
neighbor kids are outside yelling to their dog. This chair is cozy. I could
take a nap here. NO. STOP. This is WRITING time. Ooh! The ice cream truck is
going by—
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