It occurred to me the other day that I could just stop writing.
There is no reason why I must continue to work on my short fiction, essays, poems, and blog posts. I could just quit. Cold turkey. And what a relief it would be.
I would never again feel guilty about fooling around instead of writing, nor would I ever again feel guilty about spending an entire day lost in the revision of a story.
I would be free. Free! I could throw away all my half-finished work and all my folders stuffed with ideas written on scraps of paper. I could throw it all into the recycling bin and do other things. I could complete my to-do list; learn to bake bread; organize my photos; finish my genealogy projects; and of-course I would exercise a lot more often.
I dwelled on the pleasant possibilities of this for several minutes, and then began formulating my thoughts on the topic into sentences. I should write about this, I thought as I reached for a scrap of paper….