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I have been staring at the same page of the Merry book all morning. I haven’t a sentence to my name. I am on page 51, but that’s because I started the day on that page. I know part of the problem is that I get on a plane this weekend. I don’t want to dwell on that, but I know the phobia is impeding me. It usually does. I’ve been really good at not panicking, until today. It gets better. It used to be I freaked six weeks in advance. Then four, then two, then one, then six days,five days, so I’m down to around four days. That’s progress. It’s good progress, but I’m still freaking.
When I’m panicking Anita is easier to write. Not sure why, but I know it’s true. I wrote for the entire flight to England. I wrote long hand for eight hours. Finished the entire scene where Anita makes Nathaniel and Damian her metaphysical guys. Did other scenes, too, but that one stands out in my mind. I jump into Anita and drown, so I won’t have to think of anything else. But Anita isn’t due next, Merry is.
So, do I give up on Merry for now, and write on what my muse is most interesting in, or do I keep hitting my head against the brick wall. I’ll tell you how out of touch I am today. It’s freezing here, literally, but I was hot. I couldn’t figure it out. Then I realized I was sitting in a huge patch of sunlight, and I’m wearing black. Why would I be hot? Hmm, let me think.
So, now I’ve closed the drapes, and strangely, the room is cooler. It only took me about two hours to figure that one out. So, not my best day for thinking. Problem is, my job is all about thinking. Okay, thinking and feeling.
Screw it, I’m going to lunch.