Farmer H is a-grillin' on the back porch. The Pony is a-chillin' on the basement couch. The #1 son is a-millin' around at a graduation party for a classmate. And Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a-willin' a story to jump fully-formed from the three fragments she has saved in her documents file. Let's just say that three of the four Hillbilly family -illin's have been successful in their endeavors.
Life seriously gets in the way of living. The best intentions are frittered away piecemeal, a laundry load here, a sink of dishes there, a trip to town for the requisite 44 oz Diet Coke, forty-five minutes of prepping vegetables to go with the barbecue, an interlude of Arrested Development with a college-bound boy who will not lay on the couch this way again.
I am in dire need of a cast-iron summer schedule starting next week. An allotted time for everything, and everything done in its allotted time.
The first thing penciled in will be the Diet Coke procurement run.
2 comments:
Yes, most writers have their beverage of choice. For you, it's Diet Coke. For Emily Dickinson, it was probably hot tea. For Poe, it was, well...
So, keep that Diet Coke fizzing, and form some sort of schedule, so you can jump onto the writing-submitting treadmill...
Sioux,
I did some reconnoitering today, deep in the innards of my old standby blog. Some gems were mined, but they need to be cut into jewels. I have some honing to do.
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