Starbucks. Corner table. Sheryl Crow’s Long Road Home playing. A hot pumpkin spice latte by my side.
Today’s my first day back writing the book.
Back one month ago, I was on a roll. Then I stopped writing, and did almost 0 work in Europe. I ate well, saw the sites, doted upon my wife and kids, etc. But writing? Not so much.
Which makes today hard. Because starting to write after a month off is sorta like hoping your ’86 Olds flips on after five years of sitting in the garage. Chug … chug—splurt.
The good news? I’m prepared. I’ve never researched harder than I did for this one. So the notes are all in order, the chronology is righteous, the markings are legible. I want this book to be great; to speak for me as a writer and a journalist. But it can be sooooo hard and challenging. Just gotta buckle down and start. Shut off the wireless, pull out the files and write.
On a side note, bad hypo day. My leg has been acting really weird for a month. When I wake at night, it feels very heavy. Took a run this morning, just didn’t feel right. Can’t tell if my arm is heavy, too—though that’s a classic sign of anxiety. I have nasty varicose veins running down my left calf, so I’m hoping that’s the cause. Man, I hate being this way.