Guess where I’ve been the last two years?

If you guessed an exotic tropical paradise — wrong.

If you guessed a lunatic asylum, or a home for stray cats — closer, but still no.

If you guessed chained to my computer writing a book that’s about to be published — yay! You got it right!

“Don’t bother knockin’ when the ‘bago is rockin’!” My novel, THE WINNEBAGO DIARIES, is coming soon!

More details will follow. Comment if you’d like to be added to my email list. (Trust me, I won’t spam you. I don’t have the time. :-D)

You all remember the song, right? “When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now…”

The good news is that my hair is fine. The bad news is that it’s not many years. It’s not years at all. It’s two. fucking. days.

DAYS.

How the hell did that happen? I’m pretty sure that I was thirty-four only last week. Okay, maybe a few months ago. Certainly not thirty whole years.

But, there it is. The calendar presumably does not lie. So the real question needs to be this: is this the year I get off my ass, gather up the tens of thousands of words that I’ve written, and finally unleash them on the world, fully cognizant of the fact that the world might just spit them back?

Stay tuned.

Molly, sharing my pain

Practice. Ten minutes a day. Write for ten minutes a day without editing, without worrying, without thinking about whether or not you’re just spewing forth garbage or maybe doing something that will elevate you, unblock you, set you back on the path where it all just flows like a river. Ten minutes a day. Shit, it’s hard not to edit as I go. I’ve always done it, made a habit of it. Striving for perfection, and what has it gotten me? A couple of unfinished novels, and a lot of ideas just sitting there waiting for me.

Maybe this makes sense. Please, God, let there be a spellchecker on this damn thing. WordPress, I’m already less than impressed. Please don’t let me down.

It occurs to me that I should write these in Grammarly. At least then I’m ready to go when I’m done. Gee, think I could break Grammarly? That could be fun!

How may minutes has it been? I should do this with a pen. But what if I came up with something I actually liked? I’d have to rewrite it. I’d have to transcribe it. More time wasted on the quest for perfection, all the while knowing that I will never get there.

I don’t know how many minutes it’s been, although I do know I should’t be focused on that. I also know that I suck at typing when I try to do it in my lap. Desk required!

I need to think about this. I can see where it could prove advantageous, but I do need to do a quick backspace to fix my typos. Not change my ideas, not switch to a better word, but typos. Typos can go. Doesn’t seem to interfere with the whole anal expulsive quality of the thing. So what the hell.

At least I’ve used up the ten minutes.

Thanks, TheVirtualDenise on Pixabay, for making this beautiful image free for the asking. If I ever make any money doing this, I will send some of it your way!

Today is a strange, sad day. I’m sitting here working on this blog and waiting for my cat to die.

Cruiser (the black-and-white cat on the left) passed away several years ago. Now it’s Austen’s turn.

Austen (the beautiful, fluffy cat on the right) is at least eighteen years old (we adopted him as an adult thirteen years ago and don’t have a clue), and has been in failing health for several months. We’ve known that this was coming for a while. He’s had a good life: well-loved, well-fed, comfortable, and warm. The world was his friend. He loved everyone, and feared no one.

His quality of life has far exceeded that of the majority of cats, too many of whom meet early, frightening, and lonely ends. He’s just going to sleep, to wake up at Rainbow Bridge and be welcomed by his old friend Cruiser. So I’m not sad for him.

I’m sad for me.

“… when you sing you begin with do-rey-me …”

When you read a blog, you begin with “Who the heck is this, and why should I take time to read her stuff?” Well, you probably shouldn’t, if you have important things to do and limited time in which to do them. But I hope provide a viable alternative to viewing kittens on YouTube, or even baby goats.

You say “What? Baby goats on YouTube?!”

Okay, here you go. Baby goats. Got that out of your system?

Good! Stay tuned.

A great deal of indignation greets the idea of adding cream to a cup of tea. Apparently, this is the province of degenerate Americans who don’t know any better. “A drop of milk if you must! Add the milk first or your tea will be bitter! Milk, not half & half or cream! Never cream!”

I drink my tea (usually Lady Grey or Prince of Wales) with plenty of half & half (or cream if it’s handy) and gobs of sugar. Lady Grey with cream and sugar tastes like a high-end hot orange Dreamsicle. No tea rules are getting in the way of a high-end hot orange Dreamsicle!

The writing here will be a lot like that.  🙂