Spilling the Beans
I'm not writing.
Really. I've been doing a lot of day job stuff. And mom stuff. And wifely stuff. Not to mention home and car owner crap. And everything else that means living--including watching television, cooking meals, reading (and reading), and walking, and buying clothes that fit me instead of pinch me, and well, everything but working on my next book.
Some days this is frustrating. Or infuriating. Depending on what I wanted to do when I woke up in the morning (yes, I am one of those people that sorta have a day plan when I wake). But, then all hell breaks loose--a kid gets sick or hurt, or hell a husband breaks a rib (true story)--and suddenly the plans are out and survival mode kicks in. When I am the throes of book writing, it doesn't matter, I'll just keep writing until the wee hours of the morning. Obviously, between books means something else. What that 'else' is? I'm not really sure.
It's not for lack of ideas. I have files of them, others that are still simmering somewhere in the back of my head, and I have weekly fiction column pieces and the book recommendations that I keep up with. So, maybe it's just because. Or summer. Or my typical calm before the storm. Whatever it is, I'd like to finish this next book--it's time for *it* to hit the proverbial curb.
Really. I've been doing a lot of day job stuff. And mom stuff. And wifely stuff. Not to mention home and car owner crap. And everything else that means living--including watching television, cooking meals, reading (and reading), and walking, and buying clothes that fit me instead of pinch me, and well, everything but working on my next book.
Some days this is frustrating. Or infuriating. Depending on what I wanted to do when I woke up in the morning (yes, I am one of those people that sorta have a day plan when I wake). But, then all hell breaks loose--a kid gets sick or hurt, or hell a husband breaks a rib (true story)--and suddenly the plans are out and survival mode kicks in. When I am the throes of book writing, it doesn't matter, I'll just keep writing until the wee hours of the morning. Obviously, between books means something else. What that 'else' is? I'm not really sure.
It's not for lack of ideas. I have files of them, others that are still simmering somewhere in the back of my head, and I have weekly fiction column pieces and the book recommendations that I keep up with. So, maybe it's just because. Or summer. Or my typical calm before the storm. Whatever it is, I'd like to finish this next book--it's time for *it* to hit the proverbial curb.
