One of the reasons I take Mondays as non-writing days is that I usually deliver my short story to Dean on Sunday and am coming down into the short story completion crash following the short story completion high. The enemy cracks his knuckles, laughs low, and begins his work. By the time he’s done I don’t think I have the right to write anything whatsoever.

That happened yesterday. The enemy whispered in my ear that since I wasn’t a very good runner, I had no right to fictionalize my experiences in the back of the back. I pointed out that elite runners knew nothing of the back of the pack, but it was to no avail. I think by the end of that shamefest I’d promised the enemy that I would start working out again and maybe eat a bit better. He didn’t succeed in shaming me into not writing, but I wasn’t trying to write.

I did add a few words to my story. It was lagniappe, the gift of friends who wanted to write with me last night. Friends 1; Enemy 0.

I’ll be writing today at the Germantown Panera from 10am to 1pm if you want to join us. It is the last write-in I’ll be hosting this year.

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