Today I made myself a new bookmark.
As I pulled open the drawer of my analog desk—yes I have a separate desk just for analog activities—I thought about the agreement I'd made with myself to simply write one line.
I'd felt a bit scattered this morning, but I'd still coaxed myself through my routine. And before I took Ava for her morning walk to sniff the sniffs and investigate the other neighborhood dogs, I'd told myself I'd feel better if I sat at my typewriter and click-clacked my way through just one sentence.
So I shuffled my way over, sat down, and rested one hand on the keys while pulling open the drawer with the other. I keep a pile of scrap cardstock in there. The strip on top already resembled a bookmark, so I figured I'd write something witty on it and officially make it book-ready. But then I couldn't think of anything. And the strip of cardstock wasn't big enough to load properly, which is how I ended up resting it on the front of the platen instead. In my frustration, I just started typing what I was telling myself to do.
"When you can't focus, write.
When you can't write, read."
And because of its awkward placement, the cardstock didn't advance with the carriage, which created a few um... happy little accidents that actually reinforced the point.
Turns out, I'd cobbled together a loose interpretation of Ray Bradbury's common advice. Because even though I wasn't aware of it (consciously anyway), that's pretty much what he said. I figured that out later...
After I followed it.
It works.
What do you do when you're feeling scattered?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.