A writer writes

Right now I'm making a decision to be late to work. This is risky for me, since I got called out about my work-ethic (as if) a few weeks ago, and spent the better part of two weeks waiting for the ax to fall.

Seriously.

But this morning, I'm struggling with the fact that I've got at least two more story ideas in my head and no time to spend writing them (until tomorrow). I already did my 1700+ words for NaNoWriMo earlier today, but the hike in the woods shook loose more ideas and I just want to stay here, let the thread of those stories unspool.

No can do.

What's worth being late to work for is this thing that I want to say Right Now:

A writer writes.

It's that simple.

I don't know where any of this is leading me. And I don't honestly care. Ok, I care a little, but mostly I really don't care.

What I do know is that this feels GREAT, this devotion, this time, this number of daily words. This is right.

I keep remembering this excerpt from a NaNoWriMo pep talk by Philip Pullman, author of the His Dark Materials trilogy, whom I adore just by the way:

The question authors get asked more than any other is “Where do you get your ideas from?” And we all find a way of answering which we hope isn’t arrogant or discouraging. What I usually say is “I don’t know where they come from, but I know where they come to: they come to my desk, and if I’m not there, they go away again.” That’s just another way of emphasising the importance of regular work.

Here's to being at my desk, for just a few more minutes today, where the ideas come to. 

More tomorrow, lovelies.

XX