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November 2, 2005

Red Lantern Spill, Black Window Chicken House, Chapter Five

Don't mind the title. I'm keeping track of writing moments today.

Good day working on Horris, Little Eli, and the Lens of Truth. Made some progress on areas where I was struggling. Built up a good amount of forward motion again. Caught up to myself. Roadmap laying down nicely. That feels good. But you know, I'm sure I'll get stopped up again sooner or later. Ebb and Flow. And that's always true. But for now, tying up foreshadowing, leading to places I planned to go. Logic setting the boundaries, defining the pace. It feels good.

Seems no matter how many poems I write, stories I type, or how many paintings I make; no matter how many songs I record, or projects I take on...it is always the same process. It has been the same process since I was old enough to think about what I was doing. It is always a mixture of anxiety, inspiration, tension and release. You always feel just a bit removed from the process, as if it is not entirely in your control. You realize that without your mindfulness and action, the story cannot proceed. But too much shoving, and the goldcart will collapse. You juggle, pushing/notpushing. It's zen. That irony always applies about how when you grasp too hard for something, it escapes your grasp. Back up, relax, take a breath and just wander, and it comes back to you. Like looking for your keys from the corner of your eye, because you burned a temporary blue spot in the center of your retina from looking at the sun.

It's easy to wax philosophical when the wheels are moving smoothly. There's no joy quite like feeling productive in an area you feel born to occupy; feeling yourself plant a flag right where you planned to climb. When I get stuck, you see no waxing! Just me, fuming and pacing the house, muttering aloud, taking walks about the neighborhood to jog my mind—unshaven and wearing strange hats to hide my wild hair.

Now that things are moving well again, I don't want to leave the chair. And of course, true to form, I have a dental appointment tomorrow. They wouldn't even let me cancel. Oh well. Perhaps the doctor's fine instrumentation and dental skills will unearth some heretofore inacessible nugget of creativity from my brain. Will I feel it sprout like a tooth?

He'll say "Rinse," and I will reply "Oh NO YOU don't!!! I'm keeping this one!"

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joaquín ramón herrera writes for children, adults, and other humans found elsewhere in the continuum of development. He is also an illustrator, musician, and surprise protagonist. If you have found his glasses, wallet, or keys, please contact him here.

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