Fifteen Minutes!

I have fifteen minutes to write something, AND GO!

I wasn't going to write today. I mean I was. I had every intention of writing and then I faffed about and did a little of this and a little of that and thought big and little thoughts and faffed some more and then I wasn't going to write anymore because I just didn't have time.

But I really need to get back in to the swing of writing every day so here I sit with a strict time deadline (I have to LEAVE THE HOUSE so it's strict) and I'm writing.

Part of why I didn't want to write is because I really want to write some fiction and I didn't have an idea for fiction. I did have a ranty nonfiction piece I could write about.

Part of why I didn't want to write is because the ranty nonfiction piece I have in my head I've written on the subject over and over again and not really sure it would be anything new or just a rehash of ideas. So I talked myself out of it.

Part of why I didn't want to write is that I'm feeling a little untalented right now. I mean, I've been watching these MasterClasses on writing and I feel like they are really shining a spotlight on the fact that I'm not really that good at this. But then again, I don't really want or need to be THAT good at it. I'm not looking to make a living, just looking to amuse myself and the five of you. But still there is that voice...

WHICH is why I am writing, even if I only have fifteen minutes. Because, man, once that voice sets in you are screwed. Then writing becomes nothing fun at all. It becomes a whole Eeyore trip. You know the whole doom and gloom and nobody really likes me anyway thing. So instead I'm writing to keep the voice damped down and the words flowing.

Who knows, maybe I'll end up writing the ranty blog tomorrow anyway, it's not like it would be the first time I've repeated myself. Or maybe there will be something awesome that happens tonight to spur a fiction idea. Or I will just Google writing prompts like a lazy woman and handle it that way. Which seems about right.

I'm also on the edge of full blown manic, when Brent sees the shopping I've done the past two days he will say I'm past the edge, but I can feel that it might tip into a BIG one. Which would be GREAT for writing. As long as I hide away the credit cards and shopping sites and focus on the words. Whee....


So there you go. Fifteen minutes of just putting my fingers on the keys and letting the words fall out of them. It's messy. It's not all that good. But it's here and that's the part that really counts.

What are you supposed to be doing that you aren't? Set a timer and at least do a bit of it. Trust me, you'll feel better. Or at least you won't feel worse.