Sometimes, I’m just plain tired. Belly-up-worn-out. Head-upside-down-exhausted. Desperate for a nap.
Resting is good. Recently, I had a busy day visiting friends, almost eating stones (till Mom yanked them out of my mouth), and almost eating an ant trap (till Mom dragged me out from under the chair and picked up the trap). I also dodged the treacherous air conditioner vents in the floor which I’m pretty sure were trying to kill me, and I navigated my way past the dangerous grill, which had a mysterious cover on it to disguise the perils underneath. So clearly, after such a difficult day, I needed to clear my head and get some rest.
Writing is like that, too. If Mom has too many perils to navigate, too many imaginary friends to visit, some close calls, danger, strangeness, and pressure, she gets tuckered out like me. She doesn’t go belly-up and nap, though. She does an hour of writer-relaxation, instead. She organizes notes and computer folders. She reads blogs and Facebook posts that her writer friends write. She browses around on the computer doing research or looking for unusual character names. If it’s a lucky day for me, we go to the park or the ice cream store or the playground or Starbucks to people-watch. If it’s an unlucky day for me, Mom says, “I’m going to the bookstore.” or “I’m going to the library.” and she drives off in the car without me to go and read millions of books. If she brings any home with her, she says, “Do NOT eat the books!”
Duh. Why would I eat books?