I hate to get up and face the two miles I walk. I do it, did it, for the health of my heart. It has been six years, maybe seven, since I walked/jogged regularly. It has been almost six years since my heart surgery. I am healthy again and resumed walking while on vacation a little more than a month ago. WHAT HAS THIS TO DO WITH WRITING? Well-asked. Here's the answer: Directly, nothing.
Let me digress again, but less. My father-in-law died just before the above-mentioned vacation. This gave my mornings back to me, the times when I used to write. Unfortunately, I got into the habit of walking first thing in the morning and out of the habit of writing then. So, I just tried shifting my walking into the late afternoon, especially since I want to get up to five miles jogging (Thanksgiving Day road race in mind) and simply haven't the time early in the day.
THE POINT IS that I re-discovered the joy of getting up and writing versus the much lesser joy of getting up and walking. I like getting up to write and I have found the muse waiting for me, keeping the chair by the window warm. I will still walk/jog and I will still strive to do that road race just one more time. But I will enjoy the agony of writing each morning more than ever before.
I don't believe in writers block. I believe we are always collecting even if we're not writing. I do believe it is easy to get out of the habit of writing, out of the daily work writing requires and when that happens, we're not blocked but we are in trouble. I don't know what would have happened if my father-in-law had hung around long. Although I certainly wished him well and a long life, I cannot avoid the delight I feel in having my writing (life) back.
So long for now.