Yes. I’ve slacked. Last week at this time I was taking in the serenity of the Wisconsin Northwoods.
Loons, owls and bats skittering across the sky were my companions as I spent the vast majority of the time in a chair looking at the lake, while occasionally feigning interest in whatever it was my kids were doing.
Hell, as long as they didn’t risk life or limb or break someone else’s shit, I really didn’t care. Gotta be honest.
I needed the respite.
I’m a self-admitted introvert in a series of jobs that demand me to be 180 degrees opposite my nature, like Obi Wan having to be Darth Vader from 8am to 5pm for 40 hours a week.
It takes a toll.
Writing is the place I truly feel at home. Lost in words, stitching together the seamless phrase, turning the occasional metaphor on its ear.
This is where I belong.
But Life gets in the way.
Work, kids, 6th grade homework, dishes, laundry,a lawn that never stops growing (which is why i always wonder why anyone would fertilize and water with such green zealotry… makes no fucking sense to me at all – you just have to cut it that more often)
All of these roadblocks to dodge in order to get me to where I want to be. Right here. Having our little fireside story hours and I regaling you with tale after tale.
The Muse packed up her shit a couple of weeks ago. I pounded out the opening scene to the Curate story and then…
My fingers became mute.
I have a draft of the next scene, but it’s not flowing. It’s like pulling teeth for every. single. word.
And I find myself pondering “how many beers and American Spirit cigarettes must I consume to bring her back to me?”
Fickle bitch that she is.
So I haven’t forgotten you dear reader(s). Things are not coming to me quite as fast here of late. But I want to write something. Anything. Wordlust fills my mind.
Bear with me while I chase her down like a dog.