It’s one of those days when I don’t want to write.

I don’t feel like it, I’m not in the mood, I can’t think of anything, I have a hangnail… whatever. This is one of those days.

Actually, the whole weekend was like that a little bit, but didn’t matter as much since I don’t write as much on the weekends anyway. So.

Only thing to do: force myself. Don’t expect much in the way of brilliance today. This is mostly a writing execise — I think you really have to write when you feel the muse come on you, but you also need to write when there is no muse, because that’s where the discipline comes from: sometimes the Muse doesn’t come, but you need something written, and what do you do then?

.::.

Last weekend, I planted a rose bush for Jackie out in front of the house. One of the… branches? vines? whatever… one has grown a few inches, sporting first a bud and now an actual rose. It looks just like the roses you get from a flower shop, and it’s all so cool I want to go buy a couple more bushes before it gets too unseasonal to plant them. The new tree is cool too, but it’s not flowering already or spitting out apples (which will simply kick ass when it starts to happen).

Anyway, rose bush. Cool. Not manly, but still cool (I had to nail up the trellis and dig in the dirt, though, so maybe it’s still manly.