Today was a good day. I only got a few pages done but they were hard-earned ones. For every two words I wrote - I had to go back and change one of them. The difficult days wear me down because I don't feel I've "produced" enough. Especially if someone asks, innocently enough, if I got "a lot done today." I want to punch them in the face, and then cry. But I don't. Why? Because it's probably someone I love asking, and they have no idea how that slays me on the days where my brain just won't kick in to gear.

Then, late at night when the house is quiet and everyone is asleep, I reflect on the day. Usually, I end up feeling I've actually accomplished more because I didn't just toss up my hands and walk away during a rough paragraph or passage. I kept slogging through the muck.

Some days the right words just flow and it's effortless ... it's as if a little muse was sitting on my shoulder, whispering the story into my ear. Some days I can't type fast enough. Those are heady hours - the world around me just fades away. I don't even hear the phone ring; I'm so engrossed. The "buzz" those days give me makes up for the "clunk" days.

The "clunk" days are days I feel like I have to dig and search and reach for each and every word; I feel like I'm translating a language I barely understand. On one of those memorable days not long ago I actually had to use my thesaurus because I couldn't think of a better word than cool. (And I don't mean Fonzie-cool ... thank you very much. I mean not quite cold.) That is pitiful!

That's not exactly writer's block but it's damned shameful, that's what that is.

But today was a good day, so I am happy. And now, I'm off to spend some more time with the family before the kids' bedtime.

Cheers!