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Who, Me? Write?

I actually started writing a real post yesterday while I was at work. You see, I had a stern talk with myself about Writing More. To that end, I did NOT bring a puzzle book to work but only a notebook (the paper, spiral-bound kind) and pen (um, and my lunch, safety glasses, phone, purse, etc.). And my meager brain. It was not enough to get the job done.

Oh, I wrote a page of my usual breezy stuff, concerning Kim’s and my visit to The Saalty Dog Saloon. I probably could have finished it. However, right now, I am ten-finger typing on my laptop. The pictures from the saloon are on my Tablet, which is upstairs. Me, go upstairs again? Wait for the laptop to turn on, have trouble logging in (it has this thing when you first power it up), and one-letter-peck with the stylus (if I have not lost the pen again)? I suppose I could, but right now I am enjoying to ten-finger type. I really must get a new laptop so I can do this more often.

In the meantime, since this blog is also a kind of a record of my Writing Endeavors (which may or may not deserve the capitalization), I will record that I am once again having the damnedest time. I have said it before and I will say it again: Sometimes you cannot just put yourself in front of a blank page and say, “Write! Write, damn you!” Oh well, perhaps some of you can. I cannot.

What can I do? That seems a better approach than lamenting what I cannot. To begin with, it seems I am very adept at writing about Not Writing. I don’t imagine I can get a novel out of that. Or can I? I close the blog and begin to brainstorm this promising start.

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