My spiffy new car |
Not that I'd have it any other way.
My current novel is in shambles. I am writing in fits and starts, with so many gaps between sessions that I can't remember where I am, what's happened earlier, and where I might be going. I write my first drafts longhand, and I have not had time to type out and print out what I've written, so I have nothing but scribbled pages to refer to. At the moment I am stealing moments of writing time during the children's nap (when they nap) and I am reminded that this is how I wrote much of my doctoral dissertation decades ago. Much of the rest of that was written once I had put my children to bed. Nowadays, however, I can barely type a whole sentence by that hour of the night. No wonder I can't seem to get any momentum going!
But I know there will be time for writing, when they are all gone home, the cottage is quiet again, and I sink back into my familiar, mundane routine.
But for now, I'm going to bed, because the house will be alive and hopping in a little more than six hours.