In Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life there is a section devoted to anecdotes of the strange means by which writers sometimes call their muses. In that section, there is a particularly bizarre story about a writer who writes with his coat on and his car keys in hand. He writes in snippets, always after rushing out the door and frantically running errands. Each time the pulse of rushing in and sitting down to write wears off, he heads out the door again. Or something like that. I may have messed up the details, but you get the idea.
I’ve laughed at this story many times while recalling it to friends. I mean, how crazy is that?
Today I had a wake up call.
It’s not so crazy if the writing is getting done, which for me lately, it is not.
There’s something to be said for sitting down to write when your heart is racing and you feel inspired. Today on my six mile run, the wisdom of this hit me and I resolved to run home and forestall everything else until after I had done some writing. I didn’t shower. I didn’t check my phone or my Facebook. I didn’t start dinner or kiss my fiance. I sat down and made my writing goal of editing a short story. And you know what?
I want to make a habit of running home to write. There’s something to it.
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