I was so done, but I had to stay in my chair for another ten minutes.
Before settling down to write that morning, I’d set the intention to write until 5pm. Unfortunately, I hit my wall 4:50pm. I was so done.
I contemplated hitting the save button, closing the file and snapping my laptop shut, but I had made a commitment. I would write until 5pm.
The compromise was staying in the chair while actively doing nothing (oxymoron?). I would kill those remaining minutes while mindlessly scrolling through my manuscript and reading sections at random.
Which I did, happily.
Then, with only a few minutes left, out of no-where, it hit me.
The “perfect” opening line. The “perfect” second sentence. The “perfect” first paragraph.
I knew chapter one lacked both voice and urgency, but for a long time I didn’t know how to fix it. Then, unexpectedly, I did.
I scrolled back up to page one and feverishly wrote the spontaneously realised “perfect” opening paragraph. I then spent thirty minutes, tweaky each sentence, perfecting its flow and choosing just the right words.
At 5:30pm, I closed my laptop.
I felt so pleased, so relieved. I had finally fixed chapter one. I had stayed in the chair — even though I didn’t want to — and the muse rewarded me.
Then, I started to think about all the times I didn’t stay in the chair….
Image: Cat in chair by Gillicious