Summer is halfway over. Sarah will go back to school in six weeks. The apartment is dead quiet right now. It's 7:33 am. I'm waking up earlier and earlier. "What do you do all day?" she just asked me.
I know.
It looks like I'm a bum. Once a gal who arose the same as she is doing now and returned in the evening for decades has now evolved to round the clock stay at home writer. It's truly all up to me now. So why wouldn't she think I'm just waiting for her to go to her job so I can watch tv and lollygag? Trust me, it's always hovering, but I am not doing that except for one or two 'cave in' days.
I have written quite a lot of material, both for the novel, short stories, and just ramblings while sitting on a park bench.
As we half-crazed will do.
Today, I'm keying in the first draft of the novel. It's all handwritten. Heard Robert Novak talk on Book TV on Sunday and he said he could write anywhere with his laptop. I do that with pen and paper, but now he's triggered what I know I need to move to the next level.
This is my job.
Lots of ideas bubbling in this bum, so I'm signing off for now. And I don't even care that The View is on in three and a half hours.
I've made a dinner list for two weeks. Sarah says I'm like a stay at home Mom. I love it. Call me June Cleaver. Call me later. Call me happy and finding her way.
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