Last weekend I attended a writer’s conference, and I came
home completely energized, full of ideas, ready to write and submit my work for
publication. There’s just one small complication: that’s all I
want to do, but there are so many other
things I
must do. Like laundry. And dishes. And preparing meals for my family. Oh, and the small matter of these galleys that
have been sitting on my desk for several days now and that I am supposed to be
proofreading. Except the author attempted to use the plural noun “architects”
as a verb (shudder) and did not know the difference between the noun
insight and its verbal homonym
incite (double shudder). And I know
that’s why I do what I do, but right at
this
moment I don’t feel like it. I’m still back there with all my word people
throwing around heady ideas like creating believable emotion in prose and
writing theological memoir. I want to be writing my own stuff, not reading someone else's.
So I decided I’d write this blog post because, hey, at least
I’m writing
something. And maybe…just maybe…spilling these thoughts onto
a page will help me come down off the conference high long enough to actually
get some work done.
