Settling Down.

The leaves are brilliant hues. Crimson and gold beckon to me, that I should be out among them, playing and swirling and breathing in the very last of this season before the icy air blows in. Alas, I have a pile of notes and a promise to myself. By day's end, another chapter will appear. Mia will know more about her destiny, and my laundry will be put away. Oh, Saturday, how I love thee. Also, may the Bison win. #loveandwartimeless #gobison

Counting sheep and words

Personally, I feel if I'm going to write, I should be writing the book, and if I'm going to type, I should be typing form the stacks of notes I've written FOR the book. But I digress. Allow me to say, Once I get myself disciplined enough to sit still for 30 minutes, there's a WHOLE BUNCH of story development that has gone on, longhand. And I have several yellow legal pads and lunchtimes to thank for this revelry and literary abandon. My characters are real to me, and I have been gushing about them to anyone who will listen (thanks for that), and they are living, breathing and experiencing real-to-life moments and backstories. I have beautiful editors and a patient designer ready to rock. I think this will be good. Now to type it in.

Getting old, probably. A little irritated with tech, maybe, but not really. But 56,000 words into Book 3 and I opened my Word doc tonight to a text doc that would not look normal. Why? WHYYYYY? And HOW can I blame Millennials?

Beginning at the End

For the most part, endings are sad. I like to think of the ending as the hopeful part. I think that adventure is exciting. When the rest of the story has tied up every loose end, and it's time to move on, I hear the drum roll as the presenter requests: "Envelope, please."

Gertie was her name.

And a farm is no place for a girl, her father thought. At least, perhaps no place for a broken-hearted girl. Well, here is her story.

You can only go for so long.

...until one day you open up the laptop again and begin typing a story. You can write 52 short stories a year, they say. I believe that is a conservative figure, but perhaps I am surrounded by inspiration beyond my bounds. A friend once asked me where on earth I get my ideas. I ask back, "Where DON'T I?" Turn your head side to side. Take heed of the misbehavior and general mistreatment of one human to another. I could be a better friend. I will be a better friend.

Time.

And today I promise myself, I schedule time for everyone else. I reserve my writing time for late at night. My yoga for early in the morning. This schedule isn't always the most effective, and may change. Most likely, it will, and the new year will find shock and awe as others see me not dropping everything I do to be at their beck at call. Forty wins. The next book wins. Love wins. My health wins. I am doing this to be a better future moi.