There are times I wake up feeling like a pirate (which are more often than not). I envision the wind tussling my hair, smell the pungent tang of salt in the air, tilt my head toward the rising sun and repeat, “Give me that horizon.” On these particular days, it’s as if every step I take leads me across a deck filled with scurrying hands eager for a hard day’s work and my ingenious guidance. Expectancy energizes the air, freedom brightens my eyes, and my mission, should I choose to accept it, to write about pirates, is an adventure fit for me.
I love days like these best. Memorable days, exciting days, these are the scenarios I yearn to repeat when I awake. “Arrrrr!” is my response to hubby when he tells me “good morning.” That produces a smile. And should anyone wonder? I’ve always been attracted to surviving the night to rove the earth another day. But I want to do so by the sweat of my brow, not by the blood of the innocent. Pirate!
Dear ones, I am forced to seque to THOSE days when, from the moment I first wake up, each step is a miraculous feat. Like Frankenstein’s Bride, I achingly move my platformed feet across the floor, moaning in disdain. Mirrors crack in my wake, cats and dogs scurry for their lives and with hands extended, I scream, “Brains! Brains!”
Some days, my friends, it’s the Ogre’s life for me. From the moment I open my eyes, I know full well what the day will bring. Hubby heralds a morning salutation and my response is, “Arrrrrrrrrrr!” (Not to be confused with “Arrrrr!” mind you.)
Of course, no one can anticipate days like these. A mercenary affliction, these mornings strike without warning. I certainly don’t go to sleep thinking, “Gee, I wonder what hubby would think if I woke up in the morning looking and acting like the walking dead.” It might give his heart a jump start to know he’d bedded down with a creature of the night but I’m reasonably sure hubby would rather see a disheveled beauty with a jaunty step and a hearty "Arrrrr!" saunter to his side. Pirate!
Heaven knows he isn't going to warmly welcome the zombie creaking across the floor.
Have you ever had writing days like this? Some days rock, some sink to the bottom of Davy Jones’ locker with an orca-sized kerplunk. Immersed in my writing, I often get an euphoric feeling of empowering genius. I can even hear Commander Norrington's exalultation. “Do you suppose she does this on purpose or is she really that good?”
Other times, a deep-throated “Arrrrrrrrr!” and a stiff-armed reach for the computer monitor are my greatest impulse. Those particular days have me screaming for, “Brains! Brains!”
In a day and time when zombies reign supreme in literature, I ask you, do bad writing days find you running through the mall screaming for creative brains? How do you balance your moods and creativity on days like this, and find the balance that calms the savage beastie?