Sunday, August 28, 2022



          It’s time to roll up my sleeves and get back to my book. 

Yesterday I managed to produce a new scene, slowed down only a bit by a fifteen-minute Google foray into the types of chickens (now I think I need to have a fluffy white Silkie following me around the condo). My main character should be on her way next door to the home of the murder victim, but my morning’s already gone.

          Instead, I’ve made two omelets, done one crossword, read yesterday’s paper, taken a shower, changed the bed, done three loads of wash, refilled the soap jug from the big one in the garage, cleaned and refilled the hummingbird feeder (inhabited by a family of drowned ants), weeded a bit while I was outside, then sprinkled anti-ant pellets in the garden.

          With my second giant cup of tea by my side, I guess I have to get started.

          Of course, I do need to post this first. . . .


  1. I am glad to see you finished this post first. Yay for progress!

  2. Did you whiten your tennis shoes, though?

    1. Good idea. And maybe I should check the grout in the bathroom. . . .

  3. Busy, busy, busy. I was not a fraction that productive - even without the excuse of writing to avoid.

  4. I've spent too many days in such a reverie.

  5. I've done one load of washing and eaten breakfast, but that's it apart from the shower. I can't change the sheets because Lola is asleep on the bed, so here I am on the computer. You are way more productive than I am.

  6. Ah yes, procrastination, the writer's worst enemy!


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