The laundry is finally finished. (How do two people generate so much laundry?) I’ve sorted the mail and taken care of bills. The house was left in fairly good order. So why don’t I feel like doing anything? It seems like such an effort getting back to what used to be my routine. My husband did drag me kicking and screaming (sort of) to the fitness center the day after we returned. I guess he thought I didn’t do enough walking through antique stores with my sisters while he was throwing out those lures for the smart fishies.
On Saturday, I got the prod I needed. I went to our local writers’ meeting (the Mid-Michigan chapter of Romance Writers of America). Something special happens when a bunch of writers get together. All that creativity permeates the air, seeps into my pores, and I come back rejuvenated. I’m ready to do what's essential for a serious writer: put butt in chair and fingers on keyboard. Writers write. We may moan and groan about writer’s block or the disappearing muse or vacation letdown. But, in the end, if we don’t put those fingers on the keyboard or pencil/pen to paper, we’re not doing our job, we're not writers. Last week, I wrote about play. Now, it’s time to get back to that work-in-progress. No more excuses.
How do you get over vacations?