"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to write."
I said this to a good friend of mine after we'd finalized the details of an upcoming show for his band. He hadn't intended to steal my precious writing time. He knows I'm an author.
Hardly any of my early mornings have turned out the way I'd thought. If I got up early, I knew I'd have some time to work on Kill the Locust before 6:30.
Not when I want to write in at least four pages of my journal. I need an hour for that.
On other days, I've had more time--and an unlimited number of thoughts. That's two hours.
I love early-morning workouts. Whoever said exercise is an inconvenience was really onto something. By the time I end my workout, it's already the middle of the morning. And I need to go on with the day.
Nonetheless, I'm so close to the end of Kill the Locust.
On the last Friday in December, something unforeseen happened. So many thoughts, so many emotions, so many unanswered questions. I wanted to pound out more in Kill the Locust. That I received another diagnosis for a minor chronic medical issue was a good reason to work on this novel.
The next Sunday and Friday, I went to two shows, one in Sevierville and the other in Knoxville. Both of them allowed me to clear my head, to refocus.
This past weekend, my husband and I joined some friends of ours in preserving history. I lived in every moment despite strong urges to steal away and write. After all, this is winter, the time when creative juices flow.
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| Photo credit Best Shots Photography |
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| Photo credit Best Shots Photography |
Then, Monday happened.
My husband was off for Martin Luther King Day. I always live for federal holidays; I need not tell you why.
Well...it didn't work out the way you're thinking. I went to the grocery store. No, I didn't make that proverbial mad dash to get bread, milk, and eggs {hearty laughter at stupidity}, it was to get a week's worth of groceries. I thought I'd go before the weather got worse.
After I unloaded the groceries, I had something I've had many times: a meltdown.
This week, many have measured the (approximately) 7" of snow and are stir-crazy and ready for summer.
Everyone but me. The past two mornings, I've pounded out so much more of my novel in progress.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to publish this post.
