I’m sorry to be so... content, but I had such a good writing day today that everything else seems only marginally important.
In fact it was so excellent (hour wise) that in a burst of optimism I predicted (to myself and now to you) that I would have a credible draft to work with at the end of next summer. One year ahead of schedule.
So... what do I say here on Ocean, when I am completely in love with writing elsewhere? Here’s the thing: Ocean is at least (if not more) as important. So I present to you my day. On a terribly wonderfully busy writing day.
There are the pauses, as Ed and I hunt for beetles.
And we take a whole half hour break to go over to Shopko. We want to buy out (nearly all) their remaining miniature roses. There are only about a dozen left and, at about a buck a piece (90% off!) they are a steal. Mostly though, we feel bad that nobody wants them.
Too, in the evening, I had to water again. The new acquisitions, not yet planted...
...and the stuff already in the ground. Isis watched. He’s quite adept at avoiding the spray from the hose.
In the evening, Ed biked and I cooked. We’re beyond the easy path, where I freeze garden tomatoes and use the remains for salad. We have too much. Time to get cooking. Big pot items like chili. And tomato soup. And tomato anything.
Today, it was time for tomatoes and lentils. Good for the next two days. In case I have another splendid writing day and can't think about cooking.