One Word

Think for a moment about the writing you've done. About how it has defined you, helped you find voice, escape to other worlds, relate lessons, share emotions.

And now think about the writing ahead. What do you want it to mean? What will come from it?

Describe in one word* what you want your writing to be.


*One word? Could be difficult. We're wordy creatures, after all.

Cook's Diner

Your arrival is announced by the tinkle of a bell, as you push the door into smells of fried chicken and fresh-baked pies. Diners' voices fall; their eyes find you. But curiosity does not linger, for their interest is more heavily weighted by deep conversation and common gossip.

You spy your booth in the corner, set off from those already occupied, and approach its solitary offering. The vinyl seat welcomes you with worn comfort as you settle, tucking away thoughts of distraction.

Cook catches your attention from his square kitchen window and you nod. Yes, you'll have the usual. No hurry.

With the touch of a finger, your laptop comes to life. You sip from the cup Suzette just delivered with a quiet smile, access the file and...

What do you write?

That Ever-Elusive...

Often the timing isn't right. Maybe I'm standing over a skillet of gravy, and won't step away because biscuits and lumps do not go well together. We're two miles from church, two minutes before the service, and I really can't sneak my laptop into the sanctuary. Or my daughter promises this is her last yodel, and I want to give her the benefit of the doubt.

It is not meant to be.

But occasionally, everything works in my favor. I happen to be in the same room as my computer, trying to increase output on my WIP, and all factors align. I've harnessed the necessary discipline, nothing more pressing snatches my time, and I find it.

The Zone.

My fingers, linked directly to my whirring brain, turn nimble. My creativity is sharp, and it buzzes somewhere within my head. My characters speak; I transcribe. The next scene unfolds, and the words are in reach, ready to be picked and plucked. I step away for a moment, tend to a need, and fall back into place without losing momentum.

The Zone is mine.

(I wish I could own it regularly.)


Tell me about your zone.