It's not like I haven't known that I write more when I'm not hooked up to the internet, the self-updating playground of nerdy delights. At times, I'm more interested in reading the blogs of published writers, than actual writing so that MY blog will eventually become the blog of a published writer (in about a year, when "My Brother's Own Words" shows up in CICADA).
Unplugging the modem cord just hasn't worked, because I can only write about a paragraph before I wonder (has Ronny Shade replied to my post at Superherohype.com? Has Elizabeth Bear made a new post on her blog?), plug the cord right back in, go off to check, and end up clinking on a new link and discovering a deflightful new website that takes up the rest of my time.
So, over the weekend, I just took my laptop AWAY from where it has been languishing for the last three months (in the basement). Before, I was too lazy to move it. It was plugged in to both power and internet - why carry it around? Well, once I moved it to the living room, or the porch, or my bedroom, I was able to write a great deal - most of it on "Magic Doesn't Grow On Trees", where I am finally coming close to a conclusion.
If you'll pardon me for discovering yet another metaphor for writing, it's like following a scent. If I have an idea in mind, following through on that idea by writing it leads me along a path to yet another idea, and then another, and then another - so long as I keep following the path of my narrative while it's fresh. If I leave a story alone for a while, the trail gets cold, and I become loathe to start it up again because at the moment I have no creative way to keep it going. The act of writing inspires creativity, as I've always said - which makes me wonder about those authors who take ten years to write a book. How do they keep coming up with ideas if they write "one good sentence" a day?