Well, this weekend has been refreshing and interesting. I haven't seen my husband and son since yesterday morning when I left for work. They've been visiting my in-laws and I've had the whole house to myself. Something very interesting has occurred. I have decided that when it's hard for me to write and I feel like I can't escape writer's block, it has nothing to do with me. It has to do with my environment.
Today I didn't need to worry about if my son had woken from his nap, if my husband needed the computer for school, or what chore I needed to do next. My mind was completely uninhibited. I woke up early thinking about where my story was going to go. I was showered at 6:45 am on a Saturday and excited to begin writing. For two hours I typed, rarely pausing, and the story just flowed. I felt completely uninhibited and it was wonderful. I still have another hour I can work before picking my parents up from the airport. I love my husband and son and can't wait for them to get home, but it was also a breath of fresh air.
Another unusual thing happened last night. Because I had spare time I was reading other's blogs and commenting on their brilliance. I was about to comment on one and recognized a name attached to one of the comments. After a little more research I discovered that a friend of mine is a fellow writer like myself. She lives in the same apartment complex, we lead our church choir together, etc. In all of our conversations, for some reason, writing never came up. This is unusual because I usually bring it up with everyone I know. How is this something that never came up? So many times I feel like the writing world is this huge scary place. There are thousands of people working hard to get that coveted agent and publisher. There are so many people, so many different ideas. And yet, on a blog of someone I have never met I came across someone I see every week. Suddenly the writing world seemed so small, and I was so excited to have someone to talk to about things that others just can't understand unless they've lived it themselves.
What do you think? Is the writing world as big as I imagine it? Or is it a small world after all? (It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all, it's a small small world. Now try to get that song out of your head.)