My internet provider's server was down all day yesterday. Of course, I thought it was all about me and didn't think to check their website with my phone.
I went to a much-needed therapeutic coffee at Cafe Luna early in the morning. I was able to write and did some reading too. Then two women, about my age, and just about as badly dressed, sat down at the table behind me. And, oh joy, they were writers talking about writing. Specifically, about how difficult it is to make time for writing. I didin't mean to eavesdrop but my darn hearing just won't tune anything out. Even though I was trying to get a new scene down on paper, I could also register their complaints and concerns. I'd like to meet some fiction writers here in Longmont, but haven't had the time to figure out how. The only fiction writing group that promotes itself meets on Saturdays and that won't work for me.
The most interesting part of the day happened in the evening around 9-ish. We were watching an episode of Game of Thrones when there were knocks at both the front door and the back door. There were Boulder County sheriff deputies standing there. They were trying to serve a warrant on a woman named Valerie. The deputy at the front door showed my daughter a photo of a woman in her 40s with bleached blond hair and a ravaged face. To the best of my knowledge, this fugitive from justice has never lived in this house, but I don't know for certain. We got a court document addressed to her last year, but returned it with a note explaining there was no one named Valerie here. What a hard way to live a life.
The entire day stretches out at my feet. I have plans to visit my horse, and I may take my sidekick out to lunch since she doesn't have preschool today. My energy is returning and the house is not in too bad a shape. It's almost time to begin the season of yardwork hell so I want to get the house organized. Call it spring cleaning. I pruned and worked hard on the yard last year and, as a result, it looked horrible. I'm going to try to stick to pulling weeds and watering this year, and maybe things will go better.
I need a couple of hours of uninterrupted computer time then, voila!, I can send one of my favorite short stories back out into the world, hopefully to find a home in a nice modest publication.
I went to a much-needed therapeutic coffee at Cafe Luna early in the morning. I was able to write and did some reading too. Then two women, about my age, and just about as badly dressed, sat down at the table behind me. And, oh joy, they were writers talking about writing. Specifically, about how difficult it is to make time for writing. I didin't mean to eavesdrop but my darn hearing just won't tune anything out. Even though I was trying to get a new scene down on paper, I could also register their complaints and concerns. I'd like to meet some fiction writers here in Longmont, but haven't had the time to figure out how. The only fiction writing group that promotes itself meets on Saturdays and that won't work for me.
The most interesting part of the day happened in the evening around 9-ish. We were watching an episode of Game of Thrones when there were knocks at both the front door and the back door. There were Boulder County sheriff deputies standing there. They were trying to serve a warrant on a woman named Valerie. The deputy at the front door showed my daughter a photo of a woman in her 40s with bleached blond hair and a ravaged face. To the best of my knowledge, this fugitive from justice has never lived in this house, but I don't know for certain. We got a court document addressed to her last year, but returned it with a note explaining there was no one named Valerie here. What a hard way to live a life.
The entire day stretches out at my feet. I have plans to visit my horse, and I may take my sidekick out to lunch since she doesn't have preschool today. My energy is returning and the house is not in too bad a shape. It's almost time to begin the season of yardwork hell so I want to get the house organized. Call it spring cleaning. I pruned and worked hard on the yard last year and, as a result, it looked horrible. I'm going to try to stick to pulling weeds and watering this year, and maybe things will go better.
I need a couple of hours of uninterrupted computer time then, voila!, I can send one of my favorite short stories back out into the world, hopefully to find a home in a nice modest publication.
This was in the yard of an art studio in Florida. Art is certainly subjective.
I would title this: Soul of an Writer Who Never Found Time to Write
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