You’re not the only writer who has given up, is giving up or will give up on your writing. Sometimes, you tell yourself that your 
busy busy busy life is getting in the way; sometimes you find yourself in the middle of a book, a story, a poem and feel abruptly lost and trapped; sometimes you can’t “figure out” what the plot should be.
busy busy busy life is getting in the way; sometimes you find yourself in the middle of a book, a story, a poem and feel abruptly lost and trapped; sometimes you can’t “figure out” what the plot should be.You give up. You tell yourself that you are just taking a break. You tell yourself that once you finish all the busy work that you’ve taken on, you’ll go back to the writing. You tell yourself that you need to be practical in your life. You tell yourself that you are too tired or sad or discouraged. And, those are the only stories you create.
How do I know this about you and your writing? Because I’ve conned myself with just those stories. Steven Pressfield’s ferociously loving book, The War of Art saved me and my work. Start now to save yours. Click the link and be prepared to face yourself.
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Theresa Souers does the work: She didn’t know why she was surprised when Leslie’s green VW turned into the parking lot with that obnoxious beeping horn. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that I invited her to join us” Jerry muttered as he watched Leslie park the Bug in the rocky lot . Denise was at a loss for words. She honestly thought that the two of them would be alone to take in the sunset, share the cab she had picked up this weekend at the Coppola winery and maybe even have a meaningful conversation, although the odds of the latter were slim. He sensed the strain of an uncomfortable silence when Denise didn’t respond. Taking a defensive stance, he turned on his “puppy dog” look of innocence and explained, “You know how depressed she’s been since Doug left. She called asking for you. I told her you were out but that we were going to take a little walk along the North Jetty this evening. She asked if she could join us and what could I say? I didn’t think you would mind. You don’t mind, right?”
“Of course not,” Denise sniffed. She did mind though. She minded a lot. And Jerry should have known she would have been pissed. In fact, she wondered why he wasn’t bothered as well. She knew she should consider herself lucky that the three of them were so close. She felt the cloak of guilt weigh her down as she tried to remember the last time the two of them did anything without Leslie. Perky Leslie. Leslie with the legs up to her armpits. Leslie with the perfect teeth and thrift store clothes that were just a bit age-inappropriate. Leslie that could throw the best pity party and have everyone clamoring to be her rescuer. Leslie, the baby sister. “Yup, no meaningful conversation tonight,” Denise bitched quietly knowing they couldn’t hear her over the surf. “Why won’t he put his arm around me. I could make the first move but I’ll be damned if I do. I always make the first move. Hell, even all the stars in the galaxy got together to form the words HOLD LESLIE in the air, he wouldn’t have a clue.
As a damp chill found its way through her denim jacket, she shivered. She looked toward the jetty which had been built decades ago to protect the entrance to Humboldt Bay. Denise realized the sun had already set and that the sky was was lit up with a brilliant display of colors. The blue gray of the few remaining clouds created a dramatic backdrop to the salmon, apricot and amber layers of light hovering over the sea. It was then she became aware that the surge of incoming waves was building and crashing over the top of the barnacle-clad concrete wall. She turned to the two of them. “I don’t think it’s safe for us to head out there.”
“Oh come on” Leslie begged. “It’s so beautiful tonight and the three of us together are too large a force to be reckoned with. I dare the gods to try and drag us in the sea,” she called back to them and picked up her pace along the graveled path leading to the sea wall . Denise looked at Jerry who in turn was watching Leslie. She sighed, opened her car door and returned the pack with the blanket and wine to the backseat. “Let’s go,” she grudgingly said. With their hands shoved into their pockets and their heads tucked to avoid the salt spray, Jerry and Denise caught up with Leslie. Side by side the three of them walked in silence toward the fading sunset.
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