December 8, 2007

Every once in a while I find the demands of everyday life too much for me to take an entire day to write. Today was one of those days when I forced myself to stop writing and do other things that needed doing. One of the things I notice (or don't notice) when I get into the writing, is that I lose interest in other things, like piano playing. In my twenties I was a modestly accomplished pianist, but once I started writing A Cage of Bones my practice died off. Each time I begin a new book I lose playing time and have to relearn all over again. As anybody who plays knows, if you stop playing for six months to a year, you get very rusty. Your mind knows what it wants your fingers to do, but the digits won't comply. It's a very frustrating period of getting yourself up to speed again. I keep saying I'll spend an hour every day at the piano, but it just doesn't happen. When the writing is hot, I don't want to stop. And when I start to flag, I don't want to go to the piano, though the longer I stay away the more frustrating it will be when I return.

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