What is it about summertime that makes everything so... busy?
I don't have time to write this post. I'm behind at work, behind in my writing. There've been guests in my house for the past week and a half (lovely, wonderful guests, but guests nonetheless) who left yesterday, so last night was the first night I've had to myself in quite a while. I worked late, rushed home, went for a jog, cooked and ate dinner, and spent the rest of the evening organizing scenecards onto the enormous bulletin board that my (lovely, wonderful) guests gifted to me. So now I have... not an outline... but an assortment of scenes and images in some semblance of order that will hopefully help light the path. (I am currently so anti-outlining that even this kind of makes me nervous - but a novel is the size of a universe, and you can't hold an entire universe in your head for very long. Or so I am discovering.)
All of which is to say: I am looking forward to a little winter hibernation. Something about winter and snowstorms and tea and snuggling up under blankets just seems to do wonders for my ability to get things written. It's just too pretty outside to be productive!
(I know, I am the only person in New England wishing for winter right now. Feel free to tell me to shut it.)
Tonight I have a writing date with a friend who is trying to make more time for what he loves, too. We're going to sit on my back porch and enjoy the gorgeous weather WHILE getting things done. How's that for cheating the system, eh?
Wish me luck.
And in the meantime, I will leave you to hang out with this guy. Tell me those eyes don't inspire you.