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Creativity is a fickle thing

At least sometimes.

Mind you, I am firmly of the "show up every day and put in time and good things will happen in your work" camp, at least in principle, since I don't always manage to show up daily. But I set myself three modest goals for the month of October. They sound bigger than they really, are but they are to walk, write, and meditate each day in the month. To make it not such a big thing, I set myself a five-minute minimum for each of these things.

I was aces at my goals for the first seven days. But by day seven, that five-minute minimum was starting to come into play on some of my tasks, thanks to a fatigue issue that decided to flare up starting on Sunday, October 5th. *Shakes fist at fatigue, which comes with the autoimmune issues I deal with daily* On the 8th, I couldn't in good conscience put a check mark in the "writing" box. On the 9th, I couldn't actually check off "writing" or "meditation", although I sort of half-assed the meditation at bedtime, but I refuse to count that, because it feels like cheating. And "walking" was a trip to the grocery store. Plus I had to cancel my writing date with Angela De Groot, because I was too tired to get up and get there.

Yesterday, I counted a short trip to the store as walking, and I did manage five minutes of meditation (barely). As I headed to bed, the little box next to "writing" was still empty. (I'm keeping something called a "bullet journal" these days, so tasks get a little box next to them that I check off when done. Yes, really.) I turned the bedside light off and my sweetheart spooned me (I know: "Awww"), and as he began to lightly snore (he insists he doesn't, so maybe don't mention it to him), my mind drifted to a stalled picture book manuscript that I was working on. Specifically, to one character/animal in the manuscript. And suddenly, verses arrived in my head, almost fully-formed.

"But I'm very cozy here and don't want to disturb my sweetheart!" I thought.
"Then I will keep repeating the lines over and over until they are etched in your brain," came the reply. (Okay, I know, I could have put "I thought" there, but it really did feel like a conversation inside my head.)
"What if I don't remember them?"
"That's why I've been telling you to get up and write them down."
"Crap, I don't think there's a pen and paper in my night stand."
"So go to another room and get some."
"But I'm comfy here, and snuggly."
"Fine. Go to sleep and see if you remember it in the morning."
"I'm not sure that's gonna happen, no matter how much I've repeated these lines."
And I started to drift to sleep anyhow, which is what happens when you are comfortable and warm and snuggled and loved, and then "GET UP AND WRITE IT DOWN!" basically jolted me awake.

So I did. First, I went to my sweetheart's office (closest bedroom to us) for paper and a pen, and then I wrote the first three stanzas of a picture book on a page while holed up in the bathroom. Then I returned to bed, where my brain interrupted me with two more stanzas, leaving off where there's a clear path to the ending.

I don't know what gives, but I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or to ignore a "gift manuscript" that arrives essentially unbidden. I'd prefer for it to show up while I'm actually fully awake, but this will do. I checked off yesterday's box, and thanks to typing and revision, today's, too. And I've added paper and pen to my nightstand, just in case.





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