But its going to be a beautiful day outside today, so I hope to get enough written to feel good about taking a pass once it warms up.
This morning I went out to feed horses, walk around a bit and gather eggs. It was 25*F, and the eggs were late ones from yesterday so they were frozen little rocks in my pocket.
With most of the required housework done, I’m not feeling a lot of pressure to do that today. The trimmer is coming for the horses at 3 p.m. and last night I dreamt I forgot she was coming and left her waiting down by the gate for almost an hour! I’ll be extra diligent not to forget her today, haha.
My horses don’t wear shoes. The trimmer does what’s called a ‘barefoot’ trim, and although we live in a very rocky environment, they don’t need the shoes. My young horse, Comanche is especially tough-hooved and he sometimes appears to be roller-skating over the loose rocks in his path. That scares me, but he hasn’t taken me horizontal yet.
His breed (Missouri Foxtrotter/Spotted Saddle Horse) is known for sure-footed traveling in the sometimes rugged Ozarks. This summer I intend to get a lot more training in with him and maybe he’ll (we’ll) progress enough to go on one of the long trail rides before the end of summer.
Working with a young horse is mental and physical exercise different from anything else I do. It does a good job of releasing tension and freeing up pathways for creativity. Maybe it’s because the work requires all of my attention. It’s one of the few things I do that occupies my mind entirely while I’m doing it.
This has been the week from hell at my day job. I’ve been working late almost every day trying to get a spreadsheet finished by today’s deadline. Thought I’d have to work late tonight, too, but just before three o’clock I pulled the last file and was finished earlier than I expected.
So I actually left work early today, instead of late. That was a nice treat and I almost made it home before it got dark for a change. By this time of year, I’m tired of going to work in the dark and getting home when it’s dark. Around mid-March I can finally get to my gate and see to get it open by daylight instead of headlights.
Even though it’s still a 24-hour period from dawn to dawn, for some reason having more daylight hours makes me feel like there’s more time to get things done. And I’ve got a huge backlogged list of things to get done.
This morning on the way to work, I encountered two infringers (not sure that’s a word, but it works for this story) of the double yellow lines. Where I live, most of the yellow is in duplicate parallels, because the roads are curvy and hilly. It pays to stay alert, not only for deer and skunks, but also for the 4-wheeled varieties of obstacles in my path. On rare occasions, I’ve infringed upon them, too, so I’m not going to cast stones.
This does relate to writing, by the way. I’m drawing a parallel here. In fact this entire post is about parallels – lines on the road and lines in my WIP. I just haven’t figured out the best way to express the comparison yet, so I’m skirting the issue still…
It has to do with crashes and near misses, and nonchalant observations of infractions to the line. How close I can get to crossing it, without going over is on my mind. How often does the game become deadly? I’m always chicken and always give wide berth to the advancing offender. When I can. I’ve hit a few of the 4-legged ones. But it does get the heart pumping, and I’m thinking I need a little more bravery in my story line, if not my morning commutes.
There. Is the parallel clear to you, does it make sense?
I love it when my puppies start singing. Really, they’re not puppies anymore, but they still act like it, so I call them that. Right now Badger is outside letting coyotes on the mountain opposite know he is here and ready to take them on, if necessary. The chickens on their roosts are reassured by the long, drawn out howl.
His voice is perfect, rising and falling, making a sound tunnel I can almost visualize as it leaves his throat.
Sometimes Bobbie Sue joins in and they sing together. I’m aware that most people consider this ‘noise’ to be rude and jolting, especially when it interrupts their sleep. But a smile happens on my face when I hear it, even in the dead of night. I snuggle a little more comfortably into my bed knowing that all is well in the valley on Badger’s watch.
The wifi card on the spare computer I’m trying to revive doesn’t work. Not even a flashing light to signal a glimmer of hope. The receptor must be dead, must have burned out when the battery overheated.
That said, it might turn out to be a good thing to have a computer I can write on but not connect to the net. The temptation to update my Twitter page is sometimes so overwhelming that I go back and forth checking to see what everyone is talking about between each sentence in my WIP. This won’t happen if I’m using the upstairs computer.
Tonight I’ll try it out . I’ll see if I get more writing done away from my pseudo-social life.
And I suppose they’re also good for cleaning house. Judging from my past behavior, though, it’s fair to speculate cleaning will be kept to a minimum.
I’m so ashamed when someone drops by to visit unannounced and my house is a wreck. I feel compelled to explain. But no one understands that writing is respectable work. To do it enough to count means I have to choose writingwork over housework.
So the dishes pile up on one end of the kitchen while the clothes form a mountain on the other end. At least the mountain of clothes is clean. They’re just not folded or put away and we all seem to be doing just fine fishing for items on an as-needed basis
My MC has already undergone one major paradigm change, but is about to experience another. I wrote part of this scene a good while back, but at the time was unsure when or if I’d be able to use it on this particular book.
Now might be a good time to pull it out and tweak it a bit to see if it fits.
When I first started writing, much of what I wrote was out of sequence; just a bunch of scenes that were flooding my mind. I put it all down just to keep it from getting lost. The more I got into the book, the more linear my thinking became and the less often did scenes appear out of nowhere, asking to be written.
Almost all of what came at first, even though it was out of order, has been used. Apparently, my mind had the story straight and knew what was needed. Even if I didn’t use it in this story, I could have saved it for something else, or made a short story out of it.
In the beginning, it’s a leap of faith to just listen, write it all down, and know there is a reason.
Today I bought the parts necessary to revive my old laptop. I need a second computer in the house and this one is going in my bedroom so I can write whenever inspiration hits and not have to wait in line for my turn at our one and only in the kitchen.
Bought a wifi card, keyboard, and printer ink. That should hold me until I have the budget for a new notebook pc This old one works good enough, but the space bar is fickle and unless I want to write stream of consciousness style sentences, it was useless.
We’ll see if the old thing can handle the new lease on life later tonight.
I watched the sunrise through my rearview mirror on the way into work this morning. Yesterday was the first full day of sunshine we’ve had in quite a while and it even warmed up to around 50*F. It felt sweltering. After not getting above freezing for more than a few weeks, 40*F felt warm. When I lived in south Louisiana, if I traveled somewhere with colder climates I was intrigued by people wearing short sleeves and ‘summer’ clothes when it was barely above freezing outside. Now I understand why. In LA, 50*F is still considered chilly. Amazing how perspective changes outlook.
Today while eating lunch beneath the locust tree I was gifted with a long list of story prompts. I think I worry too much about where the next idea will come from. If I am willing to step out of my own way, even the trees themselves have stories to tell – and they need someone to translate
Nature needs a ghost writer and I agreed to take the job. I hope she can give it to me in short story form.