Stella's Morning

This is a tough one for me. I honestly don't see myself having habits for writing. I just get up, do my bathroom duties, which you really don't want to hear about, dress, get coffee and head for the computer. Yawn! Five or six days a week, this pretty much covers my routine. More yawn!

So, I'm going to create a character who has a specific ritual she needs to follow in order for her to write. Let's see how this goes.

Placing her coffee cup in the sink, Stella Dark gauged the distance from the rim of the cup to the top left corner of the sink, the well-polished sink. She nudged the cup an inch higher and nodded.

She ran fingers through her hair, tugging out a knot then smoothing the wild mass of curls down. Her blouse, neatly tucked into her threadbare jeans, hugged her generous curves and wondered how quickly she could get to work. The manuscript was due in less than a week.

Checking the kitchen, she nodded then headed for the den, stopping only to twirl twice at each of the doorways she went through and skirting the rose patterned rug in the living room. It wouldn't pay to trod on that, she thought remembering her last short story and how it had bombed after she'd walked on the corner of the luxurious plush.

"Not going to do THAT again, for sure," she mumbled carefully sidestepping the dark brown fringe. When she got to the doorway to the den, she stopped and took a deep breath. Placing her toes on the threshold, he inhaled, then leaped into the room, as far from the entrance as possible, landing a good five feet in and again stopped, not daring to take a step.

She closed her eyes and recited her litany, "Today will be a good day of writing. I will allow nothing to interrupt me, nothing will tear my attention from my work. I will get at least two thousand words written."

This was the same thing she said every morning since she'd started this book. So far, it had worked and she was nearly finished it.

She checked her desk, saw the neat stack of papers on the top right corner. The printer on the left . The keyboard carefully centered, it's edge an inch (measured the previous day at quitting time) from the edge of the well-polished of the desk.

On her left foot, she hopped the six feet to the chair and sat down a little harder than she'd planned. She crossed her legs, but quickly uncrossed them and switched, re-crossing them the other way.

Stella leaned down and pushed the button, turning on her computer. She counted, slowly, hoping the count would be right. If not, she'd have to go back into the kitchen and re-do her entry. She'd once repeated it four times before the count had come out right. A waste of time and energy, but necessary.

"Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five," she whispered then smiled, saying a silent thank-you to whoever might be listening. Her screen blinked to life, her hands went to the keyboard.

Before she opened up the folder on her desktop, she glanced at the tiny green stuffed frog sitting on her tower. His lopsided smile always gave her encouragement. The larger stuffed bulldog didn't seem quite so friendly, but his attitude gave her strength.

"Okay, guys. Are we ready?" she asked the duo, a note of excitement in her voice. She loved the first seconds of creation, even if it was chapter 25 of some monstrous book she'd nearly completed. The initial few words of a morning always seemed the best. If only I didn't have such a horrendous pre-writing crap to perform.

Stella clicked her tongue and counted to ten, then typed, 'zyxwvutsrqp...' all the way to 'a'.

Done with her ritual, she opened the folder and found the ms, clicking on it quickly. When it opened, she scanned to the end page and read the last few sentences from the previous day's work.

"Ah, yes," she murmured and sat forward in her chair. Her fingers flew across the board, words flashed onto the page and images of the story flowed freely in her thoughts. She blinked only when her eyes burned, she mouthed words and smiled. Unwilling to slow down or stop, knowing their would be rituals for that too, she continued typing for the next two hours, non-stop.

Phew, and that's how Stella works. I'm very glad I'm not her, but you know, I'd do it all if I had to, I'm sure. Writing is that important.

What about you? Got a special pen you use, a toy that has to sit in a particular place?Anything that you need to do in order to get those juices flowing?