For a writer, there is nothing quite like being in the zone. That is when ideas are flying at you and you can't type fast enough. In the zone means you don't eat or answer the phone and neglect your personal hygiene. You ignore beautiful, scantily clad women in your bedroom doorway giving you a come hither look. Nothing matters but slamming through as many pages as possible before you lose that muse. Actually, it's not even a muse, it's a tsunami of wit, metaphor, symbol, and sharp dialogue coming together causing facial flushing and tremors.
Every writer in the zone is certain he is creating the great American novel, even if it's only an essay. As the sentences burst free, he imagines huge book deals, TV guest spots, monster sales, eventual screenwriting opportunities and lunch dates with Sienna Miller. Finally the world will recognize his importance and his tomes will enter the canon of classics like Little Women and The Scarlet Letter.
I feel the heat overcoming me. I must abandon this blog and quickly transfer to my novel, which I've been working on for eight years. In the zone I can finish the damn thing once and for all. Then I will deal with the scantily clad wench, who I suppose has gotten impatient and gone out for a taco.
No comments:
Post a Comment