I am sitting here with bare feet in my yoga jammies wearing Chloe Tuttle's pink sweater with the little magic pocket, contemplating whether or not to flip on the gas fireplace.
We awoke to the sound of rain trickling in the downspouts. As I confessed to my neighbor in an email this morning, I was gobsmacked. RAIN in JUNE, HERE? Someone is seriously confused. But I am not sending in any complaints. I LIKE rain. My garden LOVES rain.
Okay, I'm flipping on the fireplace. BRB.
Today I write.
The weather is right for it. Right for writing. Writing in the rain is a natural pursuit. Introspection comes easier when it's cloudy. It's a scientific fact. (Dr. Demento's Science, that is.)
I'm clearing the decks of necessary chores first. But I am diving in again. The pile of pages to re-write has shrunk far enough that it looks doable now. Really really doable. Though as I was leafing through some of them yesterday, I realized I am going to have to cut some of the crap in there. I think I fell prey to one of JK Rowlings weaknesses and that is wrapping things up and getting to the END of the story. People don't like to be on tender hooks for too long. That exquisite balancing on the edge of the seat stuff can deteriorate from thrilling to excruciating to sadistic real quick like. So I am going to do some slashing.
So, the big decision of the morning is : What's for breakfast?
Times like this, I wish I had a personal chef.
And if I had one, I would say...... "Surprise me Anri .... but not with raw onions!"
But since I don't have a handy dandy Anri available, I will most likely be consuming a raisin bagel and a glass of milk.
Pretty good writer's fuel I expect.
Better than Bourbon.
Bourbon, Whiskey, Scotch... what's the difference? I never did get that.
(Shut up and get busy, Cupcake. You are procrastinating.. .Not to mention babbeling.)
Too true. Too true.
THE END