the novel’s been on it

Endeavoring to write a novel + build a blog is not feasible in my world. Even telling myself one week this, next week that, I find it difficult (impossible, really, dislike using the word, but there it is). When I begin something, my world and whole focus go into it. Plus, it’s not all I do: I work part-time from home, care for the house and garden, cook (usually w/ my husband, I must add), endeavor to exercise (obviously also dislike the word try), keep in touch with family. Like everyone else.

but scenes and dialogue grow

disparately and everywhere, and I continue warehousing, as my husband calls what I do — have answers, snippets, whole ideas, stuff ready for whenever it’s needed. I have done this for most of my life. When asked for something, I can usually pull it out of a figurative shelf. Nutty. I know.  But it was a great asset professionally. I create and do things better without expectations, so I do them ahead of time, even if not needed. At some point, they will be — know enough to make educated guesses.