I worked on a short story tonight, and got a little over a thousand words added to it.  Not bad, even though at the last minute, I decided not to continue with it.  It was the usual reason: I just wasn’t feeling it.  Yes, it sounds like something trite that a dork would say, but this dork was being honest about.

Ending the short story didn’t bother me in the least.  In fact, nothing about writing or being a writer today bothered me.

I hopped into my truck and drove to Culver City where I reconnected with some Antioch friends in town for their residency.  Lunch.  Bullshitting.  Off-color jokes.  It felt like the year that went by since I graduated evaporated, and for a little while I was more at ease.  I breathed a little more easily.  I sat with a little more slack.  I even drove to Venice where I’d rented a beach house with some of my fellow students just before graduating.

None of this actually has anything to do with writing, but when I got home in the evening and sat at my computer, the words came out more fluidly.  Even though I ended up discarding the story, deep down I knew that I would be back on the horse in no time.  I don’t know how I knew.  I just knew.  Again, trite but honest.

It’s interesting what an afternoon with friends can do.  If you feel like you’re in a funk with whatever you’re writing (or just in a funk in general), give it a shot.

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