(Tell me why) I Don’t Like Mondays

Monday is always a quiet-yet-awful day of the week, since the paper is off to print at the Daily Press and it’s time to start thinking about next week. On some weeks, like when there’s both a city council and a school board meeting, both of which almost inevitably produce one or more stories, that’s pretty easy. On other weeks, like this one, there’s no meetings scheduled, no major events scheduled, nothing. So it all has to come from me. I’m not one of those writers naturally afflicted by a fear of the blank page — my home computer is filled with the equivalent of a million pieces of paper full of ideas, phrases, paragraphs, the first line of my novel, and so on — but on weeks like these, I can get a glimpse of the abyss those writers stare into, and feel staring back at them.

OK, that’s not true; there is one story that looks like a 50/50 chance of being in next week’s paper. It’s perhaps the most depressing subject of all time, but a story that needs to be covered, if it doesn’t resolve itself on its own.

In the meantime, I need to come up with some ideas, and fast. This is the glamorous life of the writer.

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