I used to think I was the only one. Not having any other writers in the family or among my friends I just simply watched myself go thru this (endless) stream of activity so that I could sit down and write.
The space had to be cleared. The right pen had to be found. That only took 2 seconds to type but might take up a whole day if I get _________ (fill in the blank…..ie. obsessive?) about it. Then the paper. What am I writing? A journal entry, a book, a letter, an article? Those thoughts can distract me for another (endless) amount of time depending on how much priority I give to thinking thoughts like these. You can see where I’m going, yes?
It’s been decades and decades now of all kinds of writing. I’ve watched my mind sharpen and focus when needed due to decades of meditation and yoga practices. On the other side of my brain, I’ve watched my intuitive mind light up with a new inspiration that can interrupt anything and everything……if I let it.
and, still the rituals continue.
It’s time to return to my memoir now. This whole post was a distraction….