Ideas pop into my head, to which I must race to find pen/paper, my computer, my smart phone to quickly jot it down before it fades into oblivion.
Can’t find a pen. Wow, my office needs cleaned. It’ll take only a bit of time to sort it out, and I need a break anyway. Finds a pen. Finds more pens. Finds a neat metallic gel pen, doodles. Story tugs at my brain. Yep, back to writing.
Writes for a while, finding frustration my fingers type too fast and so many many mistakes I have to work through before the next sentence. Types slower. Writes for a bit longer.
Hands ache. Time for a break. I get something to eat, watch YouTube. Learn some neat hacks I want to do. Saves the video rather than try hack because I don’t want to get distracted. Realizes I’m distracted. Gets a cup of coffee and goes back to writing.
Have doubts. Rewrite, consider perhaps this isn’t the start of the story anyway. Restart in another part of the story. Question my skills as a writer. Question my existence.
Tell myself to just write, and ignore that inner voice telling me I’m a loser. Write and consider deleting whatever I hate later. Write some more. That’s not too bad. Wait a second. Is that word spelled right. Um… is that the word I even want? I think that word is similar but not what I’m looking for. I better go look it up. Yep, not what I needed. Looks up words for a half hour or more.
What the hell-? Get back to writing. Rethink some fact I’m using. Look up said fact to see if I’m right in using it. (for instance, shooting underwater). Oh… that won’t work. But look at this- blood in seawater turns green. That’s a neat fact. Can I add that to my story or does it make me sound pretentious? Better not. Better just make a note somewhere. Oh wait, there’s an entire article on interesting things about scuba diving. Reads article. Sees link about dangerous fish in the ocean. Oh, I might need to know that too.
An hour (or more) later….
Well this just sounds stupid. Rewrites a scene, finishes the scene. Thinks I might switch to Rum instead of coffee.
My cat, Max, decides to come into office. Not just a polite way, but shoving the door open that startles me. He meows when I tell him he’s being rude. “You’re hungry?” Meows again, disgusted I don’t know that. “Fine, I’ll feed you.” Feeds the cat. Goes back into the office. Starts to write. Rethinks the plot.
Rereads what I wrote for the day. Ugh, what was I thinking? I can’t submit this for feedback. Opens another projects, writes on that for a while before self-doubt ends my writing session.
Sometimes, my inner editor is a real bitch.