Why I am not writing today - my answer

I am not writing today
by Sydni Watters


Guilt and disorganization. Those are the reasons I give for not writing today.

You see, writing is just play, right? Well, I shouldn’t play. I mean, play is for after hours. It is just nothing. It is just a waste of time. I shouldn’t play, right?

I should be pounding the pavement or dialing the phone. I need to snare all of the business that I can. I have to spend my time doing that, right? Oh, of course!

There should be no time given to entertain other activities if I am to succeed. After all, writing doesn’t advance my business, does it?

Well, maybe, just maybe, if I were more organized I would have more time to devote to such a frivolous activity. Yes, that’s it. I should plan my day out by fifteen minute blocks from 7:00 am until 10:00 pm. That would solve everything! Yes, I can see it now.

On Tuesday, I will give myself five minutes to wallow in the act of writing. Just think. From 2:05 until 2:10, I will write. I will focus on only that. I will write to my heart’s content. I will fill pages with a wonderfully witty story. Focus, focus, focus. Yes, I can imagine it.

There I am. It is Tuesday at 2:04:59. I am sitting at my desk with pen in hand. Every thought and idea is held in my little head and waits patiently to flow through my hand into the pen and onto the page. (I do like to write longhand.)

At 2:05:00 the light from the fluorescent lamp above my shoddy little desk glares off of the brightest bright white paper known to man. I can feel the weight of the pen in my hand. The rubber grip feels warm and positive in my fingers.

At 2:05:03 my hand lowers to the page. The tip of the pen touches the page and I am off! The first words seem to come from nowhere. I suppress a giggle. I am overjoyed. The pen flies across the page. Soon, I have an entire paragraph committed to the page. Imagine…

At 2:08:06 I pause to reread my first paragraph. It seems good. So, I read it again and then a third time for good measure. Then, I can feel it. The second paragraph is loading into my pen preparing to burst onto the page.

At 2:09:45 I hit the page again and start the second paragraph. I am not just writing but I am writing. My penmanship is beautiful. It flows and swirls and dances on the page. The writing is maybe slightly frenzied but it is writing. The ideas and the words have a life of their own.

“SYDNI LINE TWO.”

My body jerks with shock at the blaring interruption.

“SYDNI LINE TWO.”

The receptionist’s voice squawks from my desk phone.

“IT IS THE SELLER AT ELM STREET. HE WANTS TO CANCEL.”

All I can do is glare at that damn phone.

“SYDNI? YOU THERE?”

“Yes, Patty, I am here.”

Oh, am I ever there. I am so there.

At 2:10:23 I pick up the phone and listen as the seller at Elm Street claims he can read my mind. He doesn’t like what I am thinking and he wants to fire me.

I reach down to look for the pen that I dropped when the phone screamed at me.

“Yes, Mr. Jones.”

I mask the shake in my voice and turn on that professional voice.

“Why is that Mr. Jones? I don’t recall that conversation.”

He insists again that he knows what I am thinking.

At 2:11:35 I find my pen and look back at the one and a half paragraphs I have written. I sigh to myself and push it aside. I begin a frantic search for the Elm Street file. Doesn’t this man know that I had other plans at 2:10:00?

If he only really knew what I was thinking.