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.