Today's plan was to drop off the kids at school, start some laundry, go to work and then spend an hour at the library writing before picking the kids up. Today was the only day this week I had a good chance of getting there and I was really looking forward it. But due to some unforeseen circumstances (don't you just hate those?), I couldn't manage to squeeze in that hour.
Once I got home, it was impossible to sit down and write. Just too much going on. I thought, "Well, maybe once I finish this I can go upstairs where it's quiet." Of course this was the day my neighbor decided to expand his driveway. Expanding a driveway is NOT quiet in case you were wondering. All kinds of machinery and trucks and loud noises were involved. "Well maybe after dinner...after the dishes...after...after...after..." Just too many afters tonight.
But it wasn't a total loss. No, I didn't get any writing done. But I discovered something about myself. I LOVE to write! No, really! And yes, I already knew that in my head of course. But today, the longing to sit down and write was overwhelming. I felt it right down to my toes.
Yeah, writing can be frustrating to the point of wanting to delete chapters or throw the notebook across the room (um, not that I ever did that *crosses fingers*), but the flip side is the rush when a scene seems to fly from your fingertips. Or those lightbulb moments that come out of nowhere that are so brilliant. You just know it's perfect and you can't wait to flesh it out on paper (or computer). I had such a moment in the shower last night and couldn't wait to write the scene that would accompany that thought. That's why the disappointment hit me hard today. I never got the chance.
But tomorrow's another day. It should be a quiet afternoon with only one at home. It won't be the library, but maybe I can tempt my muse to visit here with a new supply of chocolate.