The Twilight Blue Coffee Mug

The blue mug

I bought the book.  The War of Art. by Stephen Pressfield
I wrote yesterday,
"Today I am going to buy this book...5 years after my professor told me to read it."
Now I am reading about writing rituals.
I hear they are important.  I feel guilty that I do not have them.
Maybe I should get some.
Then it occurs to me, they already exist.

I wake up early.  Before the world begins.
I do this not because my alarms tells me to, but because my mind is zinging with unfinished sentences.
I have been this way since the age of 12 when I wrote my first poem in 4 stanzas on lavender-colored lined paper.  I read the poem in church.  It was a long poem so I had to tape two pieces of the lavender paper together.  I felt my voice melt over the heads of the faithful as I read it aloud.
I don't know if they heard it, but I did.

I wear my pajamas.  This is another way of staying out of responsibility mode.  Once I get dressed the flow of Things-to-Do has begun.  In the summer I wear belly shirts so I can feel the air on my skin.  In the winter I like slippers and zipper hoodies.

I drink coffee from one of my 3 favorite mugs.
There are lots of mugs in the cupboard.  But I only like the round ones that taper at the top and the bottom. They are a little bit bigger so I don't have to get up for more coffee as often.  They cradle my palm in a way the straight ones don't.  There is a shiny black one, a creamy white one, and a mug the color of the sky at twilight given to me by my Dad.  It's my favorite.  Right now I have the black one. Hold on, I have to go refill it...

I cannot listen to music.  I need silence.  Music...and my children...interrupt the words I hear.  I hear the sentence before I write it.  There is a rhythm I listen for, like the footsteps of a familiar person.  I know it is my husband walking down the hall because I can picture his stride.  I know my writing voice.  There are fifty ways to express the same thought, but only one that is mine.

I have to sit up straight.  If I start to sag in my posture, my brain gets soggy.  When my body is alert my mind reflects this attention.  I never knew I did this until a boyfriend pointed it out to me about 15 years ago.
(God how long have I been writing?  22 years...)
He said,
"I love how you always sit up straight at the computer.  It's beautiful."
I turned around 12 seconds later, after I finished listening to the stream in my head.
"Oh really?  I never knew I did that."

So this is what I am discovering today, my rituals need to be honored.
Why change something that has been working for 22 years?
I may become lax at times, but I always come back to my coffee mug before sunrise.