For the Time Being

Day four of thirty into this writing retreat, and I have yet to dig into the chapters I came to revise.  Procrastinating, yes, but I'm seeing procrastination differently than I once did.  Having now been on a number of similar retreats, I've learned that it takes a few days to shed the stuff of real life in Decatur---to come to the sense of quietude required to burrow into a fictitious life of story.  I know from past experience, I will eventually find the story, and while I still wrestle with these days, I'm beginning to reduce the angst they cause by viewing the battle as a necessary part of the process.  Maybe these few days are actually pretty effective writing tools---important as pencils and erasers---days I must wander through to get to the place, time, and mode of writing---a place, time, and mode that cannot be achieved without a few days' time. 

The beauty of this insight, I hope, is that time will make the days go by whether or not I'm fighting them.  If I spend them reading, sitting, staring at the marsh, thinking, meditating, walking, breathing, and being, perhaps I will arrive at the page on the other side of them less used up, more fortified for the story.

Sounds good in theory, does it not?  I'll report back in "a few days."  In the meantime, many thanks to Sheila & Barbara for the sleeping house, and to Peggy & Bill for the writing house.   I'll write more about my gracious hosts tomorrow.   Today, there is the marsh to observe, the path to walk, and the breath of the universe to take in and out of my lungs.  dkm