This Has To Be Statistically Impossible

This weekend I am alone. My dear wife is in Northern California working on some issues with her eighty-four-year-old mother. It is a rainy weekend here in Southern California, and I am at our little place in the desert sitting in my RV, which by the way I named, ‘Wendy The Witch And The Bugout Bus.’ Don’t ask, I come up with nicknames and crazy stuff like that all the time. That is because I have a well-known disease with the acronym CRS, “Can’t Remember Shit.” So my nicknames help me with my illness. Perhaps in a future blog, I can explain how I came to naming the RV such a strange name.

Okay, let’s talk about Statistics. I am a long way from being any sort of a mathematic genius, and I do not know statistics as a science. What I do know is that once and awhile something happens and it is virtually impossible to repeat it. We all have said something like, “I could stand here all day, and that would never happen again,” right?

This morning I made coffee in the percolator. As the water heated up and started groaning and churning inside the pot, I thought it a good idea to fill my little container of sugar packets. Yes, I have to have a small amount of sugar in my coffee, I’m a wimp and not a cowboy.

As I grabbed a handful of packets out of the box, I pulled my hand out, and one of the single serving packets flipped in the air and somehow after two summersaults flopped into my cup of water. How is that possible? I said a bad word that I would not want my grandchildren to hear, but there it was floating in the water. Thinking to myself, I could stand here and try that for a year, and it could never happen again. Statistically impossible yet there it was floating in the cup of water.

So my morning started with that little experience which led me to share something as mundane as that with you on my blog. These things happen throughout all of our lives, I know that. I use that same kind of experience when it comes to my writing. One of the things I am good at is telling myself it is statistically impossible to write today, I work long hours, exhausted all the time, and I have about as much creative juices as a leather belt. These are all true in my case. So convincing myself my creative tank is empty is a compromise for me not to face what I really want to do, and that is to shake out the thoughts in my head, from those little voices that speak to me, (yes I hear voices in my head).  My best excuse not to write and it is a good one, that when I retire, I can write full time and make up for all the years of excuses I have made.

So here I sit on a three-day weekend no wife just me and Wendy The Witch and a ton of tortillas and hotdogs to sustain me. I started to write, and it came easy. I’ve been working for months on a new story entitled, “Norma Rose.” I started down the path developing Norma Rose as a person and other characters that my voices told me about. Then about chapter 8, I hit the writer’s block, brick wall. It was a bad one too. I went back through the story concerned about how it was developing. I could not move forward, and worse yet the voices went silent, and it took weeks to hear them again.

I have snuggled down on this rainy weekend and stared at my storyboard, and something happened, the writer’s block came tumbling down. I started writing, I couldn’t write fast enough because those damn voices were talking to me at breakneck speed.

Perhaps as impossible as writer’s block is a reality for writers, the seemingly impossible thing happened. I saw a rough cut pathway ahead for “Norma Rose.” Perhaps I stood there long enough, and I was able to flip a packet of sugar into a cup of water a second time. Nothing is statistically impossible I suppose.

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