Years ago when I first got serious about writing, each time I sat down at the keyboard there was a “pattern”, a method if you will to the process. Coffee on the left, cigarettes on the right…and the words flowed. Page after page in one sitting. It might have been drivel but at least it was on paper.
Well, I smoked my last cigarette Oct 12 2010. As the year anniversary approaches, I feel inclined to document my progress:
1) I’m still working on the novel I started in February 2010. Three scenes away from finishing. I’ve been three scenes away from finishing for oh…a few months. I know the scenes by heart. I can recite the dialog. I can’t leave my characters hanging. I owe Gypsy a proper ending. I love him, fellow writers in my critique group love him – I can’t just let him “fade away”. But I won’t start smoking again for you, bud. We’ll work through this.
2) I still can’t breathe. Not from congestion or anything “smoking” related – but from the 20 pounds I’ve gained eating everything that’s edible. And sometimes, that’s questionable. The cigarettes and ashtray that used to sit to the right of the keyboard have been replaced with a bag of corn chips. Try chewing on baby carrots someone told me. Seriously? Have you ever actually tasted those things? But…I refuse to start smoking again. Nada. Not going to happen. I’m going to live smoke-free the rest of my life so I can embarrass my soon-to-be NINE grandkids by making all kinds of offensive old people sounds in front of their friends. Who cares? I can’t breathe so it won’t be me breathing in all those smells.
3) All the money I could have spent on cigarettes, I’ve spent on corn chips. And Mt. Dew. Voltage. Good stuff. It’s replaced the coffee that used to sit to my left.
Hang on, Gypsy. Once I find my “pattern” again, I’ll let you say all the things you’re wanting to say. Then it’s on to Book Two in the series. And more corn chips. Pass the Mt. Dew.