Sometimes when I’m not writing, it’s your fault.
I had an epiphany a mild thought while on the Bay Bridge. I was in the Fastrak lane, watching everyone go zooming by me on every side. I knew precisely why I was going so slow, but I refused, on general principle, to do anything about it. See, when the lanes were designed, they designated 2 lanes to run for ages, and each lane splits to 3 just before the toll plaza. Then, because they were wishy-washy, or caved to confused tourists, or something, they decided that the right Fastrak lane would actually split into 3 lanes that, on any given day, one can actually pay cash at.
The end result is not, I think, what was intended. Now the right lane still splits into 3 Fastrak lanes, but only because everyone in that lane decides to break left, over the line dividers, instead of splitting neatly into their 3 provided lanes. And the left lane does not split at all, unless you are forceful about it, and even then, it gets you nothing ’cause no one else is being forceful about it for some fucked up pacifist reason.
I tried being forceful. It only made me ragey and got me flipped off a few times (really, was I in the wrong there? I don’t think so). Now I move with the herd, letting lines, solid or dashed, be damned. My only little rebellion is actually an anti-rebellion: I refuse to cross the line myself. I’ll sit in that one damned slow-as-a-turtle lane listening happily to my podcasts until I get there, letting the world cut in front of me.
I’m not sure that this is really working as a metaphor for writing, but what the hell. Mostly I wanted to vent in a happy, non-road-ragey way.
Let’s give it a shot, though. Sometimes I go with the herd. I play games, hit pub trivia and happy hour, go to movies, watch Glee, arrange doggy play-dates, and just generally say yes to everything (Incidentally, how did Yes Man ever get written? When did he find the time? I guess he didn’t, until he started saying no). Then sometimes I’m forceful, and I lock myself in to write. And sometimes I rebel, and write while sitting in a pub in North Beach with my friends.
Of course sometimes when I am writing, it’s your fault too. Specifically yours, Chris Baty. Woo hoo, it’s almost NaNoWriMo time! I’m happy to follow that herd.