I guess when you depends on energy to get your things written, you better hope your energy is coming uninterrupted. Most days this isn’t a problem.
Yesterday it was.
I was just starting in on afternoon writing when the power went out. It was just after two PM, and I had to do a quick “Open up the laptop and save and bring it down” move before things died. I work on a seven-year old laptop, and the battery is pretty much crap; after forty-five minutes I’m looking at a cooling hunk of metal. So if I don’t have a power source, then I best save what I have and move on to something else.
Power was out for two hours: it think it popped back on around four-twenty. Power up the computer and start in on writing again– Then it was time to go out to dinner. So save off what I’d written after about twenty minutes, which wasn’t very much if you’re asking.
Go eat, return to the house about six-ten and . . . no power. Utility people are right across the street replacing our power box. The juice is back on in the house at six thirty-seven, not a big deal, so I get into writing again . . . and reading a few things here and there, and chatting, but nothing out of the ordinary, right?
Finally settle into writing about seven-thirty, and I’m going along, struggling with lines, and–out go the lights, a little after eight PM. Save what I have, shut down computer, go outside and relax in the cool air.
And thinking about what I wanted to say.
I knew the discussion my two on-stage characters were going to have. I’d even worked out what would be said for more than a few days. But when it comes to showing the scene, to saying what they need to say, I’m holding back. The words I want to say don’t come as easily as before. Particularly with this story, which I’m trying so hard to have come out, in my mine, good.
Sitting in the back yard I thought about what was being said, how people felt. I had a lot of math coming up, stuff I worked out earlier in the day concerning numbers for the student body, and spilling that out was going to come fairly easy. Breathing deep the gathering gloom–yes, Moody Blues there, who I once saw play in the late 1980’s–I worked out the conversation in a way that made sense, and that didn’t puzzle me now.
Power was back on right around nine-thirty, and it was back up, power up, write up. I wrote things, I made conversation, I showed body language and sensed emotions. I’m not necessary happy with that last part, because I feel things didn’t turn out as I wanted; some of the feeling seem forced. So I have the file up now, and I’ll give it a quick peek to see if there’s anything I can change.
I want this story finished; I want to move on to the next thing. This weekend feels like a good time to wrap it all up.
If the power stays on, it might actually happen.