Time passes on, as we all know it does. Time doesn’t care that you have 2 million things to accomplish today, both mandatory and recreational.
For whatever reason, I always take my writing supplies to the in-laws house for Christmas. I have this fantasy that I will have a moment sometime during the stay to take pen in hand and scribble thoughts.
The house is so busy with children and relatives, chit-chat, game playing, cooking and cleaning up, there isn’t a silent moment until after midnight. By then, I’m exhausted from the constant stimulation of my senses, the noise and the movement. I crash into bed without a thought in my head.
By the time the holidays are over, I realize it’s been over two weeks since I’ve written anything on my stories. Not one word. My books and pens have been neglected. I’ve lost my place in the creation of the story. I have to re-read what I wrote in order to remember where I was headed and why. I have to reset my mental capacities for creation rather than reaction.
So, I’ve set my goal this year to publish three (3!) new novels. Two of these are already well on the way, with edits in progress and last minute fixes. The third is still up in the air, with my choices being a haunted B&B or a alternate version of the ancient past by delving into my recent archeology studies, or another installment of the Stormflies series in the form of a prequel, or what is commonly called an “origin” story these days.
The thing is, if I don’t recuperate from the social season soon, I won’t get any of this finished!
Time to plan the first vacation day away from everything and spend a quiet day at home, in the dark, alone. (Introverts will understand.)