Patricia Harrelson

Yesterday, I was like a kid waiting for Christmas. Jittery and giddy and talkative and not exactly centered. I went to get my haircut at 11:15 but my appointment was for 2pm, so I went to thrift stores and I bought chiffon scarves. I’m not sure why but they seemed like they would be good writing totems. And I found this wonderful sheer blue shirt with gray whales on it. It is silky and flowing and falls to my knees and without a doubt it is the perfect shirt to inspire something. I also bought a pair of black pedal pushers with small green frogs embroidered on them. I went to Staples and bought a purple and pink plastic calculator and a bunch of half-sized colored gel pens and a package of 20 of my favorite pens. I don’t need pens. I have drawers full of them and so does Cindy, but I do need a calculator so I don’t have to walk to Cindy’s office and get hers when I want to calculate something. Then I went home and washed the scarves and hung them to dry before going back to town for my haircut and yoga class.

After dinner, I called Rex for a list of hip-hop, rap, and alternative music. His list included Blink-182, Afroman, 2Pac, and about four others. I downloaded about 15 songs from ITunes and was listening to this stuff, trying to get into character with Memo and Curtis–two guys who star in my novel– while Cindy wore her black cat hat and passed out candy to the trick-or-treaters. I listened to 2Pac sing “Dear Mama” and hung chiffon scarves around my office. After Cindy came and frowned at me because the music was so raucous, I turned it off and tidied my desk and got everything ready for morning. It was getting late but I wasn’t sleepy, so I read my mystery and drank peppermint tea and ate toast, and it got to be 11:30 and though I wasn’t sleepy yet I went to bed anyway. When Cindy came to bed at 1:30 and I still wasn’t asleep, she said I could get up and start because it was Nov. 1. But I didn’t.

I got up at 5:30 — a half hour after I planned. I had a sore throat and felt hung-over. I washed my face, made tea, and put on my whale shirt. I opened a word doc and typed “Memo Goes Missing” at the top. And then I stared at the screen. In the past week, I have thought of at least 10 opening lines for my novel, but I stared at the screen and couldn’t think of one word to start. A fly landed on the white screen. I watched it walk across the back lit page. At 5:48, I typed the first word. At 7:36, I had 1700 words (the daily quota being 1667) and I had to pee really bad.

I promise to not read one word of what I wrote when I get back to the page. GO AWAY Internal Editor. I don’t want to see your scowling face for 29 more days!!!

ph