The Writer's Desk

Writing, publishing & marketing notes from Jamie DeBree & her alter egos

Illusive Words

It’s been awhile, again. It’s been a rough year in general so far, and I knew that when I stopped serializing my drafts on the blog, it would be hard to stay motivated to write daily. But I also didn’t count on getting so completely out of the habit of writing that even sitting down to put down a few random words here and there would be an extreme exercise in willpower.

And yet, here I am.

I suppose you could say I’m in a “growth cycle” of sorts, but that would really just be an excuse. The fact is, I’ve let the habit slip, and while I want to write, there are about a million things that seem more important to focus on right now. So I haven’t buckled down and made writing a habit again.

I’m even having a hard time writing this blog post, partially because I’m out of practice, and partially because all I have are excuses that seem lame even to my own ears. But what if we look at this a different way?

I don’t have to write, which means I don’t need excuses when I don’t write. What if I just decide not to feel guilty about not writing, and instead just be confident in the fact that I’ve been writing on and off since high school, and no matter how long of a “break” I had to take for various detours, I always, always come back to the words. I lost a dog to cancer earlier this year, and it was kind of a traumatic, drawn out experience. Then we kind of had a hole in our pack, work just kept on being super-busy, and our remaining dog started revisiting old bad habits.

Now we’re on the cusp of adopting another dog to eventually be a companion to our current dog (as well as us, of course), and the new dog has some issues he’s working through as well. It took two weeks to determine whether the dogs would eventually be able to get along, and it’ll be at least another three before they find equilibrium after the new dog moves in.

Work is still busy, busy, busy. It leaves me satisfied, but somewhat brain-dead at the end of the day.

All that said…I will get back to my stories soon. I can feel my life slowly finding a balance again after everything that’s happened, and I think when I finally find that point again, I’ll slip back into the writing habit as if I never let it slide.

Or that’s what I hope, anyway. We’ll see in a few weeks. Hopefully less.

In the meantime, here’s an excerpt of something I wrote a few weeks ago, just playing around in my “scratch-pad” file. Whether anything will ever come of it is anyone’s guess, but I think there’s an interesting premise here, I think.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, buying the orange and green abstract monstrosity. It wasn’t pretty…or ugly, or even what she’d consider particularly intriguing. But the moment she’d seen it, it had claimed her, and now she couldn’t even fathom not taking it home.

“How will you be paying, Miss?” The wizened old gentleman stood dapper in his tux behind a linen-draped card table serving as a cash register for the evening. Everything about him was a cliche, save for the look in his eye. It wasn’t the look of a white-haired has-been, but rather one of those tall, dark, silent-predator types that every girl wanted to be caught by when she was young and naive. A cliche within a cliche.

She handed over her credit card with a wan smile, not sure whether her attraction to him was more or less embarrassing than the purchase she was making. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but it was every bit as certain to her as gravity and oxygen that he knew of her inner struggle. Even more perplexing, he seemed to approve.

“I knew who that was for the minute you walked through the door, my dear.”

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