There’s always that one day in the month when I go fishing for a slice, and nothing bites.
I have a list of Slice ideas for just such a day. Two pages in a document now, single-spaced. There are fourteen days of slicing left, and I have collected 29 different ideas that I haven’t used yet. It sounds like an embarrassment of writing riches, but when I look through it this morning, nothing sticks. Nothing compels me to write. Nothing feels urgent. Nothing feels even mildly interesting.
But I have to write. I’m going to write.
I try out a piece about my old dog. For Roxy, I title it. It’s a piece I’ve been wanting to write. But it’s just too hard. I can’t write about what a gentle soul she is without getting sentimental. I can’t describe the physical failings of her old age without crying. Finally I decide it’s just too early in the morning for this. I don’t want to start my day all sniffly and swollen.
I try to add to a funny piece I’ve been working on throughout the month about procrastination. This morning’s additions feel strained, like I’m reaching. It’s not funny. It’s not fun.
But I have to write. I’m going to write.
I read a few more slices, leave a few more comments, hoping that something will click with me. A poem structure I want to try. A topic I want to explore. I read some wonderful slices, follow a few more blogs.
But nope.
Nothing.
Nothing needs to be written by me today.
But I have to write. I’m going to write.
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