Here on the west coast, it’s 11:18pm, November 14th (but I took the bleary-eyed pic when I finished this post, almost 40 minutes later). I’m just now sitting down to write my Deb post for November 15th… which is already here in every other time zone of the contiguous United States. I wish I could say I’m doing this purely because our theme this week is “Procrastination,” but alas, that’s…
Our topic this week is “in the kitchen,” but to be honest, my best relationship with the kitchen is one where I wander through to get the portable phone to place a delivery order for Chinese food. Or I dash in, pour myself a glass of wine, and dash out before the kitchen knows I’m there. For someone with such a healthy interest in eating, I have an underdeveloped interest…
Writing used to be my hobby. Then I started doing it for a living — not just with my book, but at my various day jobs over the years. You’d be amazed how spending a whole day finding words for someone else’s vision, while fun and rewarding (er… most of the time), can deprive you of the energy to pursue your own vision, especially in your precious free time. So…
I have two daily schedules, depending on the time of year. Between late May and early October, my daily routine is free, open, and limited only by my own tendency to flake out and flit from one task to the next. I get up around 8:30, pour myself a giant mug of coffee, check on the caterpillars in my monarch ranching project, make sure the dog is fed and watered,…
My daily routine is having a crisis. It is not quite sure whether it even exists, which makes this an existential crisis. It needs therapy, vitamins, feng shui or possibly a cleanse of some kind. (But not the colonic kind, please.) Seriously, I am not the most regimented of people, though you’d think having first a dog and then adding a child, would have forced it upon me by now….
I subscribe to WAY too many magazines. When some hit my mailbox, I will trample everything in my path to read them: Country Gardens and Organic Gardening are the biggest culprits. They are the glossy, professionally-bound crack of my magazine world. I devour them in an hour, drooling over the lush garden photos, dog-earing pages I wish to revisit, dreaming of the day when the pages will be scratch-and-sniff. Because…
You already know that I’ve always wanted to be a writer — a published writer, to be specific. And now that I am, I have to say that it’s kind of nice. Except for the writing part. I’m kidding, of course. The writing part for me is actually the best part, especially now that I’ve had a few months to realize how futile my promotional and marketing efforts really are….
