Today is one of the days I don’t particularly feel like writing. My idiot teenage cat woke me up at the break of early, and I managed to spill coffee grounds all over the kitchen floor, proving once again why my husband makes the morning java. (I don’t function well until I get caffeine in my bloodstream).
But I remember the words of Henry Rollins:
“Some days I got stuff, some days I don’t, and some days I write about the fact I got nothing to write about. But, I do try to write 1,000 words a day. It’s just like going to the gym. Some workouts are better than others. I think the less pressure you put on yourself, the better. In my opinion, it’d be hard to sit in a room and go, “Okay, damnit. Be creative.”
So onto today’s assignment from the people at the San Francisco Writer’s Grotto:
Describe the sounds of the street outside your office building the moment after you were fired and escorted from the building
There is deafening silence to endings, a silence that drives out all the noise and conversation about it. As I walked with the security guard to the front door, the silence pushed against my head like a suffocating pillow, pushing out the world I was leaving forever.
But as the front door opened and I stepped into the bright afternoon sunshine, the sounds of life outside the office rushed at me in a wave of sound, like a car radio that someone had left the volume on high when they turned off the ignition. The crows and ravens calling and fighting in the trees. The sounds of the cars crawling and idling on Ocean Street, bringing tourists to the beach. A mother entering the building, promising her child an ice cream cone after they finished their errand. The constant mechanical chatter of the air conditioning unit in the dive bar across the street, overworked in the summer heat wave. The sounds of a summer day, that said there is life beyond this job.