Downtime

At this moment, I am a writer in downtime. There is a pause for me as I take a breath and wait for the next push from a character, a new one or an old familiar face. I am waiting for a voice to come forward, for the urgency to build, for the desire to speak to reach a crescendo that I can't ignore. Until that time, I read and think and walk around my yard; I dust and putter and let my mind roam free, unburdened by the need to begin the next chapter or paragraph or sentence or find the perfect word. I have faith that the words will find me when the time is right, when the plot thickens like a stew left to simmer. I will know when the time is right to stir the pot and that time is not now.

In the meantime, I visit the websites of other aspiring writers. I read their blogs and books and feel less alone in my quest. Don't ask me what that quest is. I'm still letting that simmer, too.

This is the perfect time for me to be in downtime. As the leaves fall from the one deciduous tree in my yard, nestled in among the palms and oranges, I pine for long winter nights and hibernation, log fires and good books.

And if all else fails, if I become restless or mired in inconsequential thoughts and things, I turn off the stove and my mind completely, and

I go to the sea . . .