Right now I’m sitting in my son’s trombone lesson, awaiting a stampede of horny moose to show up in response to some of the sounds being made in this room.
Optimal writing conditions. Exactly how Virginia Woolf recommended we work.
It’s been that kind of week, where the “parent” part of “working parent” trumps the “working” part. Finding corners and minutes to work at odd times, trying to work out plot holes while kids are brushing teeth, putting work aside for conferences and long weekends and Valentines Days (a holiday we largely celebrate by trading terrible puns). Yes, my full attention matters to my kids, and it’s an investment in three little people, and I’ll miss it someday, but you know…
Right now there’s always a stampede in the distance.
Listen for hooves and adjust.
I’m in my second week of reworking my first novel. I’ve re-outlined what…
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