Prompt

I am being organized today. I am planning my work for the TEK Conference at UNH this weekend. I've gathered sample poems to read to the workshop participants, my own books are ready to go into the car for possible sale, and I have a writing prompt ready for the participants.

But I look around at my office and see that I am not ahead of the game. I have stacks still needing to be weeded or filed. These litter the floor which needs sweeping, vaccing. I look at my desk and see more that I need to organize or file or remove permanently. There is a stack of books that ought to be on the shelves, a bag of books to take to the local book-trade-credit thing (hello hello Books). There is more dust in this room than is probably healthy.

I am in over my head apparently. (Am I? Do the stacks seem to be growing on their own?) Not sure.

But there is some large measure of comfort in my clutter. This is my "stuff." These piles represent my work, my reading, my ideas and plans. They represent my tax year, my accomplishments and failures. They manage to somewhat define my days and my existence as a writer.

I have a 2 foot mermaid on the wall opposite my desk. She seems content. But I notice she is directly looking at the clock with a rather wry smile on her face. Hmmm. Time to what.....?

It's raining. I love the peace and comfort of rainy days. They make feel like writing. But I needed to avoid that this morning in favor of the prompt, the plan, the prep. I will write again. Just not at this moment. I will suppress the urge to write, to play with the words I woke to in my head. I wrote them down, no chance now but they wait for me in my notebook. Later. Maybe when I get to my hotel. As for my office floor... my desk... they will wait too.