On Christmas Day, I emailed my pilot script to the studio… even though I knew nobody was there to read it. The script is due at the network next week, so I wanted to make sure it was delivered in time for me to get notes on Monday, do a quick revision, and still make our deadline.
Over the last three days, I did something I haven’t done in months: I didn’t write a thing. I didn’t even think about writing (ie plotting the next book or script). I didn’t even write anything for this blog. I couldn’t even summon the interest to read a book or watch a movie or catch up on all the TV shows cluttering my Tivo.
I wanted nothing to do with story.
It felt good. I think I could probably use two more weeks like that, but it’s not going to happen. I have a very busy couple of months ahead of me of writing and business-related travel (to New York, Germany, Seattle and Sweden).
And yet, I also felt strangely guilty… as if I was playing hooky or being irresponsible. Afterall, it’s not like I don’t have more work to do and looming deadlines to meet. But there was nothing pressing on me, not like the deadline for my last MONK novel or for this pilot script. I had the wiggle-room to give myself a couple of free days.
So I cleaned my office, did some errands, and took my family on a spur-of-the-moment trip up the coast to Morro Bay and a first-time visit to the Hearst Castle. I didn’t bring my laptop. I didn’t even bring a paperback book (then again, it was only a day or so, hardly a big sacrifice).
And now I’m back, procrastinating here on my blog, before starting to write again tonight. It’s only been three days and yet, I’m feeling rusty, as if I’ve lost my momentum.
Silly, isn’t it? I have got to learn how to relax a little bit.