Just Write Anything!

Living Large on Sunday Morning

Author’s Photo: Egg Scramble with Shallots, Red Pepper, Spinach and Italian Sausage — Cinnamon Roll, and Vanilla Almond Milk

Words and ideas gather — congregating like the hundreds of migrating blackbirds on the trees and grass of my backyard. Unlike the synchronized flock of soulmates that move together as one, the words and ideas in my mind zoom this way and that, reminding me of a pinball machine in which numerous silver metal balls have been rapidly shot up the ramp, one after another. (You see, I’m even troubled a bit by my analogy here. Will a pinball machine actually allow you to have more than one ball in play at a time? It’s been many years since I’ve stood in front of such entertainment.)

Forge on! Just write anything!

Although it’s only been days, it feels like months since I’ve strung any semblance of read-worthy work. It happens, right? The funny thing is, now when it happens to me — I start to panic. What’s happened? Is my run at the page over? That’s what I wonder.

And despite knowing I have an infinite supply of ideas and words, it is only focus that’s lacking, I still start to sweat a little — or a lot. Guess what? Sweating only makes the focus harder to snare.

Forge on! Just write anything!

Just warning you — this might suck. Or, it might make you smile, which is really what I’m hoping for.

Something overcame me in the grocery aisle this week — near the butter and refrigerated tortilla shells, behind the tall glass door with a plastic black handle, I saw the blue Pillsbury cinnamon roll cylinders. The varieties were many — cream cheese glaze, orange icing, Cinnabon style cinnamon rolls (What does that even mean?! Isn’t a cinnamon roll a cinnamon roll?), caramel pecan, and traditional buttercream — which is the variety that found its way into my cart.

I know the cinnamonny sweet, slightly crunchy exterior, warm fluffy interior treats are not good for me — but good for me be damned. I swung open the bunker door, reached into the chilly depths and plop! into the cart the blue tube went, mingling with broccoli, apple juice and microwave popcorn — now that stuff will kill you.

Hmmmm….what’s the expiration date. Just how long will I let the processed, not so super food linger in my refrigerator, while I battle with my willpower?

Turns out, the Medium articles I’ve been reading about using willpower as a guide are true. Most of us have weak willpower — myself included. Do not rely on willpower!

In less than five days, on a chilly, blustery, misty, Sunday morning, I peeled back the blue, printed exterior of the delicacy tube. I popped that container open by gently pressing on the seam, as per the directions. I reveled in the mini-explosive sound joined by the scent of sweet spice.

Carefully separated and judiciously spaced, the pinwheels of joy baked and rose in my perfectly pre-heated three hundred and seventy five degree oven. (Insert small prayer of gratitude that the oven is working.)

I attempted to balance the deleterious treat with fresh eggs scrambled with red pepper, shallots, spinach and a little bit of Italian sausage. To me the healthy scramble served as ample justification to indulge. You agree, yes?

Forge on! Just write anything!

So there we have it. I wrote something. You either find it amusing, or incredibly lame. I’ll hope for the former, and yet be content with the latter.

I’ve forged on and written something. ;)