Words written today: zero. (How very Bridget Jones of me!)
That approximation is not entirely accurate in its description. I have written words today, with a pen, onto paper. But they don't count. Not really. They were notes made during a training session.
All those words belong to other people. I quoted, paraphrased, edited, but I didn't create them; they didn't originate from the assimilation and experience of thirty years on this planet, as lived in the form of Zabby.
So, creative words written: zero.
How does that make one feel, when one is supposed to be a writer? Futile? Redundant? Useless? Mierable? Laissez-faire? Joyful? Peaceful? Accepting? All of the above?
I added the positive adjectives, not because I genuinely feel them, but for the sake of variety. They are possibilities - just not ones I'm currently inhabiting.
I take great comfort from the fact that I remember reading somewhere (possibly from one of the invaluable aids written by Natalie Goldberg) that a writer never really leaves square one; I concur, in many respects, that I have in fact found this to be the case.
Words: zero. Square: one.
All is well in the world: perhaps tomorrow I'll write.
