Routine Writers Block

What day is it, again?  How many days have I been working on this?  It's amazing what I can think of when I'm not focused.  More importantly, it fascinates me why I'm not completely focused.  When there are less days to revise than what you need, in order to get to the best version of your work -- that's when panic strikes.  Or in my case, procrastination sinks into my head masking away as desperation.  If only I could shake it . . . Even this darn post is my attempt to knock the cobwebs out of my mind and sit still, long enough to revise these few pages.

I go inside a coffee shop, backpack connected to me -- which is what I seem to always have.  No, I NEVER carry a purse or handbag (bleh), but I have my trusty backpack or messenger bag.  And NO, it does not leave my side -- much like my inhaler.  But I'm getting a tad bit tangent-like.  My routine:  I listen to a soft musical selection of songs to put my mentality at ease.  I sit in the far side corner, typing away; looking at my recently revised work; glancing at my mountainous pile of printed off versions that must be redone;  quickly thumb through a Writers magazine; flip through my notebook, going to each page, which are bombarded with notes.  And yet, I still haven't reached my newly written pages.  I'm still in revision mode.

This is my routine.  Revision never starts with the pages that need to be done.  Instead it begins with revising my focus on what to start with.  It seems easy:  just open a new file and GO.  But with each newly written page, more pages have to be deleted.  And with those pages going by the wayside, the story shifts.  Thus a new plot emerges.  Or maybe that's just me.  Yes, I map out how I want something to begin and eventually end -- but what goes on in the middle -- that's just as much a surprise to the reader as it is to me.  Well, sometimes that's the case.  Sometimes.

I suppose trying to multitask does not quite help with my Writers Block.  Nor benefits any type of routine of writing . . . The hours are slowly -- wait, quickly counting down.  I still have many things to finish.  One being another set of rewrites.  I've started them, and yet looking at the list of what to finish, makes me cringe.  I don't have too difficult a task to accomplish.  I just have to begin, again, or else I'll never finish.  This is a routine!  This is something that needs to stop.  I need to just write something.  Anything.  If I get something down, I'll be in control.  I need to kick this writers block in the butt -- at least for the next few days.

I need a new routine!

Summer . . .

There's a quiet serenity that takes over a campus during summer vacation -- a seemingly private whisper, as the leaves sway.  The moment when all confusion is removed, and the only idea is clear skies NOT breaking.  An environment where people once trekked to and from, not noticing the beauty around them.  To only realize it, as the breeze stops, the leaves prohibit themselves from shaking, or changing color.  The fascination with birds, squirrels, and all nature -- they become one.  If only for a mere few months -- all nature resides in a commonality; of peace and quiet serenity.

The packed classrooms, are now empty.  The crowded buses, are cleared.  The subways . . . well, they're still in use.  The streets are filled with smiling inhabitants, packing for their annual trip to the "Cod," or the "Hamptons" and the only people visibly maneuvering through the streets, are either tourists, or locals with no need for travel.

It's funny how many people we look past, when they are EVERYWHERE.  And when that crowd disappears, for some, so does that ignorance.  The want to walk past someone; pretending they aren't seen, just because you don't want to be bothered.  That moment when you look down a corner, and there are more than six cardboard cots lined up . . . You turn up your headphones, turn your head, or proceed to pantomime a phone conversation, just so you aren't approached.  Well, that moment seems too irrelevant.  There are no longer a thousand people crowding the streets, so you cannot walk away.  Their faces are clearer, in a sense, you see their shame of lying on the ground.  You see them, as you jog through the park, exit the station, bike towards the River -- they are still there.  Many people have deserted the area(s), but they still have NOWHERE else to go.

There is no Cape Cod, no Hamptons, no summer vacation to another state.  There is only a move; to another corner, another street, maybe even another town nearby.  But they remain, the same people -- the same during each semester.  When you're running late and running away from a quick conversation, they are waiting, patiently.  When you're getting ready to pack up for another destination -- they are still visible.

There will always be a quiet serenity that takes over a campus during summer months.  It doesn't matter which campus, there will always be less people;  to meet, to speak to, to avoid, to walk past.  But just as you would stop to caress the leaves, or feed an animal, or possibly take a run -- why not clear a moment and break a habit?  Why not take a second to provide serenity for someone else?  It only takes a few moments, when you really have an entire summer.

Much Love,

~Kyra C.