Girl Eating Porridge by William Adolphe Bouguereau, 1874. Will oatmeal give me her youthful glow?

I was procrastinating about writing (don’t judge – we all do it) and so I decided to shovel the snow off the sidewalks instead. As much as I love watching a blizzard? The shovelling is a bugger and yet, also strangely satisfying. Thirty minutes later, my cheeks were red, I was sweaty and swearing that I’d worn such a thick sweater. But the words started swirling like snowflakes above my head and when you’re a writer? This is how one thing leads to another.

I was far too hot to write so instead I made oatmeal. Not the instant crap from a package. The real deal. Large flake oatmeal that burgles and blurps in the pot like lava. There’s something satifying about that too. My favorite bowl is soon filled with my version of gruel. I throw in blueberries, and some walnuts for good measure. Because I really, really, really love my brain and I’m already on the oatmeal train.

I rewarmed a cup of coffee for the second time and as soon as the microwave turned on? My werewolf ran to get his favorite toy. He’s Pavlovian this way. We ran around the house and I barked at him and he barked back. His tail wagged furiously and because I don’t have a tail – I laughed!

By now I was even sweatier but at least my coffee was warm (again) and I was one step closer to writing.

I couldn’t find any paper by the window seat so I picked up a book that didn’t hold my attention. But there, underneath the book, was a little pad of pink memo sheets I thrifted from somewhere. Eureka! It had to do as the words were spilling and I needed something to catch them.

It was now mid-morning and my bird clock sang out the hour. How can you be miserable when you have a bird clock? It is the remedy for most things in life.

Finally, my werewolf and I headed upstairs to “work’. He turned straight into my office as he takes his writing supervisior duties seriously. I am grateful for his presence and editing skills.

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The shovel. The snow. The oatmeal. The werewolf. The pink pad of paper.

One thing leads to another. A life of ordinary moments connected by invisible threads.

And they are always worth writing about.

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Now It’s Your Turn

Whenever you’re stuck in your head and can’t write? Write about your day.

Let it flow in a stream of consciousness and leave your internal editor at the door. (My editor is a werewolf, but he waits until I’ve fully written something before he steps in.)

Writing about simple things leads to a writing practice.

I kid you not.

*Did you love this? Then check out Scribbly – my quirky and gentle writing program that we snail-mail right to your home. Each issue has a theme, so all you have to do is follow the path! We make writing easy and fun for you. We’re nice like that.