It was as strange a place as anywhere to sit down for a few moments to get some work done. His car was parked in front of the lake-house, and now that he was sitting in the gazebo he felt kind of silly.
It would be easy to stop working and just stare out the windows and watch the lake for a the half-hour he had to wait before his wife could be released to go home.
It would be easy, but he didn’t want to stop. He had a rare chance to spend a few minutes writing out some of his thoughts, just kind of doing a one-dimensional writing exercise. The famous “keep the pen moving’ bit, you know? Just writing to write, to get in the mental space for constructing lines and words.
Stale coffee on his breath, he sighed and looked out at the floating dock. IT was too cold today for swimming, but that’s not to say it was cold. Overcast, maybe, but not cold. Maybe he’d pull his sweater on a little later. It was in the back seat of the car.
He wondered if he should publish this? It might make an interesting exercise. Actually journaling— but if he was really doing a 10 minute writing exercise, he had to be free from the constraints of publishing and public consideration. If there were things that he wanted to write that weren’t suited for publishing, he didn’t want to feel the need to stay away from them.
I wonder if 10minutewriting.com or something similar exists. That would be a really cool idea for an online journal. MyTens.com or something.  A public place to park 10 minute writings, edited after the fact for publish-ability and maybe then tagged. How could would that be? Especially if you wanted to go back and check on them later.
He was carried away with that thought now, and he shook his head somewhat involuntarily in oder to refocus on the 10 minute task at hand. That kind of thing would be an interesting thought for later, but right now, he was supposed to be writing.
The trees shimmered in the light outside the gazebo windows as the wind gusted in playful bursts.
The gazebo is nice. It would be a very nice place to have a party. Of corse, so would the back porch. By the rabbits. Don’t we all love the rabbits.