Melinda Morley

I’m pretty much a morning person. I wake up around five everyday and lie in bed. While I know I should get up and be productive, I usually try to do that using only my brain–no major limbs involved. I just think.

Mondays especially. I wake up. I feel like I’m lying under a pile of roadbase. I don’t move. I start to think.

What am I going to do today? And I think of all the things that I can get done. My heart skips a beat when I remember things like:

I’m going to hit 30,000 words on my WIP. I’m almost done with the first draft and then I’ll be back to flesh out the scenes and spice it all up. I’ve decided that I like the challenge of revision. And then words start to swirl around in a delicious soup and every once in a while there is a hearty chunk of ham  in the form of a character motivation that I hadn’t thought of before, or a lovely carrot slice in a description.

Sometimes it’s just broth.

Today I’m thinking. I’m trying to forget the lines from Shannon Hale’s new book that she just posted. I read it this morning and wanted so badly for it to be mine. (Is that coveting?)

I repent. My lines are not hers, but they are mine. That’s enough, right?  (I’m ignoring the fact that I still ache to put words on paper like that.) Mine has to be enough.

Even if my writing is just split pea, some people like split pea soup, right?

How is it that a few paragraphs of someone else’s work can undo all the resolve I posted about yesterday? Bah.

I’m going to go now. I’m going to write. It’s the only way I’ll find peace. I’m going to lose myself in my story for awhile until all is well in the world.

And I think I’ll have chocolate for breakfast, for good measure. 

And what for lunch? Soup.