The Solo Artist

Hearing the far off voice of my dear, writer friend, Betty, admonishing in my inner ear, ‘you haven’t written much lately,kiddo,’ my decision was made.

Glue your butt to the seat in front of the computer and start typing.

Screw the inspiration or lack thereof.

Chuck the procrastination or ‘right time,’ topic or weather.

Sit down and let the ink flow through your fingers and keys.

Period.

Just do it.

Write.

How many of us, writers, creative spirits all,  have made a million-gazillion good excuses for not doing the very thing for which we have aptitude and love; that which makes us feel more alive and flowing with the energy of our beings?

Why do we not do when we know we can?

What doubt or excuse is ever good enough for not writing; not setting aside sacred space and time for writing?

And yet I know I am not alone in this curious, ever-sneaking-up-on-us skill.

Were I to write a list of all the “really valid” excuses I’ve made or heard, there’d be no time to do anything other than write!

I’m sure I’d have to be carted off to some nearby hospital emergency room to have the computer chair surgically removed from above said buttock.

And then have to post notice of affliction, name of hospital and visiting hours.

Well, that might have a positive side affect.

See.

More writing.

Everything is grist for the ink mill.

That being written, there is no waiting for a topic to click in, assignment accepted or inspiration heavenly or earthly upon which to wait to write.

No time like the present.

Size doesn’t matter.

Do a Haiku.

Look at this, Betty.

I wrote!

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