Running, Rain and Writing

Today is my day to run. Says so on my calendar. But it's raining. And cool.

And raining.

If I don't go, I'll spend all day bitching at myself for not going. So I changed my clothes, debated sleeve length (chose long, good choice), taped my knees and laced up. Then I stepped out the back door.

And almost walked back in. This was no hazy mist. This was a steady soak, strings of water falling from the sky. Sighed then straightened shoulders. I'm here now, might as well keep going. Halfway to the trail, I thought, This is nuts. You're an idiot. Go back. My feet actually faltered.

Then I thought about my husband. He ran this morning. And I thought about my scale and the number I don't like to see there. I thought about sitting all day at my computer. About the Junior Mints on my desk and how good they'll taste when I'm writing, which is what I planned to do all afternoon (instead, I spent it at the doctor's office and Target pharmacy with Son the Youngest).

I picked up my feet and started to run.

The first half mile sucked. Water soaked into my clothes and my skin. My hair clung like spiderwebs to my neck and my toes went numb with cold. But I plodded on at my 10-minute mile pace, telling myself how good that hot shower was going to feel when I got back.

I hit the trail a few minutes later, still bitching. About the puddles. About the rain biting into my skin. And cursing my husband for wanting kids, which is why I have this extra weight. No, I was not in a good mood.

After a while, though, I hit my stride. Now that my clothes were saturated, they felt good against my warm skin. Instead of avoiding the puddles, I ran through them. My feet were already soaked. My mind wandered away from my complaints and instead I listened to the soothing beat of the raindrops against the leaves and the thundering roll of the rising creek. I watched the patterns the drops made in the puddles and let my mind...go.

Lately, my writing reminds me of running in the rain. I've struggled with my fifth Ellora's Cave story. It won't do what I want. It's messy and stubborn and I want to give it up. I won't. Nora Roberts says you can't fix a blank page. How true. I know that once I have the bare bones down, I'll be able to get it to do what I want.

And I'll finally hit that groove, that zone where my fingers are moving on the keyboard in complete sync with my brain and the story flows like that creek, at a fast and furious pace.

There's no better feeling in the world. Except maybe a hot shower after a rainy run.

New Week, New Ways to Procrastinate

I should be working on my new story right now. The file is open on my desktop. The house is empty, no one's home to distract me. I've had lunch. I've got a box of Junior Mints on my desk.

Still...I can't quite settle down to write. I got a few pages written this morning. Not enough, though. It's never enough, is it? Because there's always something else.

Like email. Love it. Hate it. Can't live without it. Today, it brought me a present.

I'm a huge My Chemical Romance fan. I took my boys to see them three years ago and the amount of energy those five guys generate is amazing. Singer Gerard Way is a spellbinding frontman and Ray Toro's guitar chops kick ass.

In February 07, we had tickets to the Black Parade show in Philadelphia. Unfortunately Mother Nature had it in for me and, on the way to the concert, my car, loaded with my two kids and two of their friends, skidded on the ice and hit a guard rail. Needless to say we never got to the concert. You don't want to know how much or how long it took to get my car fixed.

A few weeks later, I discovered they were coming to the arena five minutes from my house. I ordered tickets in minutes. They canceled the show due to food poisoning. I was heartbroken.

Today, I got an email that MCR is releasing a DVD of their concert in Mexico City. I'm preordering my copy today.

So what does my obsession with MCR have to do with writing?

MCR's music has such a propulsive energy, it's provided fuel for my writing for the past four years. The primal scream underlying "I'm Not Okay" gave the heroine of my WIP her backbone. The heartbreak of "I Don't Love You" fueled the black moment in my two of my stories. "Helena" helped me work through a death sequence. And the rhythm of "Famous Last Words" infuses a major fight scene in one of my stories. When that one's published, I'll let you know when to start the song on your iPod as you're reading and you'll see what I mean. And that's not taking into account how much plotting I've done listening to the album while I drive or run.

June can't come soon enough. And guys, please come back to Reading.

All you other writers, tell me how you procrastinate.