Last night, I found myself with a bit of spare time before lights out (I have to set a limit to my waking hours because I know only too well the agony of dragging myself out of bed the next day, regretting having stayed up till morning).  There was no chance of playing Plants vs. Zombies because the hubby beat me to it so I picked up one of the magazines on my side table.

It was Writer's Digest and on the last page was a piece about how the writer found that she could not use the hours she set aside for writing to do just that.  She said she was very good about writing when she had just pockets of an hour or two but when she finally had a free day which she thought would be ideal for writing, she came up with zilch.

The piece goes on to say that this sort of thing happens to many writers and first drafts are never perfect.  She quoted another writer who said that we must give ourselves permission to write  bad first drafts because the pressure to come up with something brilliant is what prevents us from writing.

Notice here how I've used the word we?  I've decided that if I don't consider myself a writer, then I'll never be one.  Part of what I learned from reading The Secret, you see.  But I digress so on to what I really wanted to write about.

When I began this blog, I committed to writing at least five times a week.  I realize now how naive a statement that was.  It's never just sitting and writing and clicking on the PUBLISH POST button.  The writer was spot on when she said that what bogs writers down is the idea that what goes down on the page must be perfect.

The other reason, at least for me, is that life happens.  There is work to do, there are meals to prepare, errands to run, and so on.  Case in point, just now, I answered a call, went upstairs and saw a few dishes from lunch that didn't make it to the washer so I took a detour and put on rubber gloves.

I told my husband about this life happens business last night when he asked how the blog commitment was coming along.  His answer was, "Well, then write about that."

   "About what?"  I asked.

   "About the life that happens," he answers as one of his plants knocks off a zombie's head (it's actually cuter than it sounds--I highly recommend the game).

Made sense.

The writer also mentioned that her teacher once said that even writing just one sentence a day is good.  I suppose that makes sense too.

Hence, I will give both a try and see what happens.

Today's illustration has once again nothing to do with this blog.  It is of a very sweet and lovely lady I know who likes to have her hair done up in rollers at the salon but will not have them comb it out if she has errands to run before her affair.  Instead, she has them douse her hair in hairspray.  The rollers are then carefully removed, the hair rolled back as if the rollers were still there (remember the locks are now stiff with hairspray), and she leaves the salon to head off to a department or specialty store or even the supermarket.


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