Like a Writer

Last week, I promised myself I would start writing fiction again this week. But I couldn't dredge up any interest in writing. My new job has me working from 3-11 most nights, and my ideal writing time usually happens between about 4:00 and 9:00 in the evening. But even when I had time set aside for writing, I couldn't make myself do it. I don't even want to make myself write. Not at the beginning of a project, anyway. And right now I'm at the beginning of any number of possible projects. I don't want to write with an attending feeling of dread or fatigue, which is how I felt when I thought about sitting down to write.

I didn't even want to blog.

But today I felt something in my brain opening up. I considered writing something here, and felt like pursuing the thought further. I even wanted to express it in language. I didn't, but just the presence of the desire excited me. And now, even though I'm exhausted from a too-short night last night and a too-long day of work and a too-hot night tonight, I can hear the writer in me whispering. Inspiration suddenly lives everywhere. (Tonight, my brain is testing the idea of a series of short stories inspired by my job. If working the front desk at a hotel inspires me, I must be a writer.)