I was a bit skittish, I will admit.
Having been thrown flailing from the creative mount the day before, I was a little nervous crawling back onto the equine’s back. I blame this apprehension entirely on the said-flailing.
It was… *winces sourly*… ungainly.
Perhaps if I had managed to do it with a graceful swan dive or a head-held-high “Excuse me, while I depart from this beast,” the reclaiming of the saddle wouldn’t have been done so warily.
I was spooked.
Being spooked is a terrible place for a writer to be… unless of course you’re writing a Stephen King-esque piece in which being scared crap-less is all part of the fun.
I eked out maybe 100 words in yesterday’s return. Yeah, I know. Pretty miserable performance there.
There was indeed a performance.
There was indeed a rider on that wiggling mount.
That’s what is important.
*deep breath, deep breath, deep breath*
At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I force myself back up onto that dang saddle again today.