I don’t feel like I have much to say right now other than that I thought I’d write so much more while under quarantine. But, turns out, everything is just a little boring when you’re staying at home and helping stop the spread of a virus. I walk a lot. I play with my dog. I read a lot and watch Netflix. I tend to my plants. I hug my wife and we put together Legos and puzzles. I mean, I guess there’s grad school. I have plenty to do at least for the next two weeks until I really will need to find something to do to occupy my time.
It’s not all that exciting right now because we’re doing what we’re supposed to do. No one is sick in this house and we’re not spreading a virus to anyone else. That means what we’re doing is working. What we’re doing is working. In the words of Dr. Derek Shepherd from Grey’s Anatomy, “It’s a beautiful day to save lives.” So, we keep doing what we’re doing.
Being bored is a privilege and a minor inconvenience. It is not an infringement on my human rights. I refuse to bow to people who are willing to sacrifice human life for the economy and their comfort. I won’t do it. That doesn’t make me morally superior; that just means I’m listening/doing my part. It’s really not so very hard to do that.
Oh hey, I wrote something! That feels nice. I don’t feel like I have anything important to say. It IS nice to churn out some devotions and sermons so I’ve been doing that, I guess. Just not much book writing. I don’t feel like telling stories from the past when the present is so darned suffocating. Even though right now I have all the time in the world to do so, I just. I don’t want to. I want to write this book but I don’t want to have to sit down and write.
How frustrating that is.
Every writer goes through that at some point. We get stuck in a rut and we can’t seem to get past it. I think that’s where I am at. Feeling a little stuck in the monotony of life. I would love to write like it’s my job. Maybe that’s what’s next for me once I finish this quarter out. I’ll spend the summer finishing this book. I’m writing in my book about writing my book. That’s like breaking some sort of fourth wall. Take that, Deadpool.
I also have a paper to finish writing and I’m ignoring that so I can do this. What fun. Procrastinating at its finest. Writers are damn good at it. We complain about writing more than we actually write. And just like that, if I keep writing, I’ll get my 500 word count in for the day like I was supposed to be doing all along. Complaining about writing turns into writing. Who knew? What other writing secrets might I stumble upon when I’m attempting to avoid writing, I wonder? Only time will tell…
500 words. That’s roughly a page a day. It can be done if one simply sits down and does the thing. But no one wants to actually do the thing. I’d rather make lists about all the things instead of going and doing them. This whole page…it ought to go in the book so maybe SOMEONE can learn from my mistakes.
I would write 500 words…and I would write 500 more…
It’s like I need to get loosened up before I get going. Sort of like running. I’m in pain and it’s torture for about 3 miles and then, things really start to move better (ie my legs, feet, the things that help you run). Of course, I don’t run like that anymore, but I should. I should run more, and I should write more. I want to run and write more without feeling like I have to do either. I want to do it because I enjoy it. And I do! I enjoy writing. The running–not so much. We’re getting there. One thing at a time. I’ve been writing consistently since I was seven years old. It was one of my first loves. Sometimes I don’t believe I’m actually good at it. But here we are! Writing words on a page. I ought to publish this to the blog just for shits and giggles. I’m definitely going to do that. Maybe some COVID-19 writing will amuse folks. If you’re here, I hope you’re amused. Until the next 500 or so words, I’m out.
P.S. Don’t forget! I do have a patreon so if you’ve come this far, might as well check it out.