The Fly

Putting my rear on a chair and writing for hours is a whole lot easier in the winter, when it’s too dark and cold out to really enjoy being outside. Right now, with nearly fifteen hours of daylight and access to the Columbia River, waterfalls, hikes and wine on my friend’s front porch, writing is a dedicated task. Yet I know all too well the itchy, antsy feeling I get when I’m not writing.
So the other day I sat: rear in seat. Mug of coffee ready to go. Laundry and dishes done. Door closed to the rest of the mess. And I started to read. I’m in the editing phase of a novel, which is my least favorite part. I love the creation of the characters, building a world, tearing apart their dreams and hiding the bodies. I don’t so much like cutting words, chopping out characters and cleaning up the blood. It’s just not fun. 
I was trying like hell to stay on task when I noticed a spider web in the corner of the room– gasp! Then I noticed that a fly had gotten caught in it and was thrashing about, trying to get free. My first thought was: good, the spider will be so busy with the fly that it can’t launch itself across the room and attack me. Then I thought about the fly. Could it get free if it fought long and hard enough or would it just exhaust itself? Do I tangle my characters in a proper web, making sure there aren’t any huge holes for them to slip through, so they really have to want to be free? If the web is editing and I’m the fly, will I give up the struggle and succumb, or break loose?
It may not be a profound thought and fighting for one’s life is sure different than writing. But…if writing is what feeds my soul and the option of NOT writing is torturous, isn’t it a bit like fighting for the life I want every time I put butt to chair and pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard)? I think so.
As a side note, I’ve relocated and have yet to find a writing community. If you have an online writing community (or want to start one), please contact me!