Writers Block

There were enough people at the farm to rotate through the chores, allowing every adult at least one day of home-work per week, in addition to days of leisure. The majority of residents at the Wild Raccoon had private pursuits and ambitions, usually in the areas of writing or the arts, so home-work was a near-sacred practice.

Bobbi had two home-days per week, primarily because her work in the orchard and farm-forest could be done alone during in long stretches of work. Outside of pruning during the winter, addressing damage year-round and picking in the fall, trees have no real schedule. Therefore, Bobbi evaluates the work needing to be done and schedules long days up on the hill, where she just digs in at sunrise and works until sometime after sundown. The chores in the barn are a nice break in the routine, but those are required of everyone and, therefore, rotated through all able-bodied adults.

Thanks to the damage caused by a particularly powerful storm and all of the orchard work it created; Bobbi was sitting at her desk, staring at her laptop, thinking about how nice it was to have three whole days of home-work time. Three whole days to really focus on her novel.

The clock ticked, the birds chirped and the computer remained untouched. Three whole days.

Running over all of the story lines that she’d been playing with while working in the orchard, Bobbi scrolled down the text-dense page. All of this writing was done, late at night, after a hard day’s work, knowing she had to get up and do it all over again the next day. All of it just flowed out of her finger tips while a portion of her brain worried about getting enough sleep and losing ideas while completing chores and…

Nothing. Right then and there she had nothing except three days. Three whole days.

Sighing, Bobbi picked up her cup of tea and went to sit out on the small porch area outside the only door to her tiny home. It wasn’t as nice as the big communal porch, which provided entry to the farm kitchen, but it was outside and away from the desk.

Fine. She thought. If my brain won’t write, I’ll just let it sit empty for a while.

Sitting on the porch swing, she focused on her breathing and used classic meditation techniques to empty her mind of all thought, just absorbing the world around her and trying…really trying….to stay in the moment.

It was blissfully peaceful for a few moments, then the thought-banishing game began as words and images started creeping their way to the forefront. After 15 minutes, the thoughts turned creative, but Bobbi kept banishing them to silence. 20 minutes later, she was sitting at her desk, typing away.

Just had to tell myself “no, you are not allowed to do this.” Bobbi thought with a chuckle. Works every time.

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