Each day upon rising, I stretch my arms and say to myself, ” Coffee, then writing.”   The coffee happens the writing doesn’t.  Sometimes, between my bedroom and the kitchen, I get distracted.   I see piles of paper on my desk, shoes left by the front door,  a dish or two that didn’t make it to the dishwasher and Bear, who is dying to be let out to bark at early morning joggers.

By the time I take my first sip of dark roast, all plans to write have disappeared. In most instances, I turn on the news to hear  what today’s “Breaking News” may be.  None of this is uplifting.  In fact, it throws me into the start of a day which ultimately leaves me irritable, frustrated and angry with myself for not giving myself even thirty minutes to to what I know I need to do: WRITE.