Oh, hello. Remember me? Just popping in to say good morning. I’ve been on writing retreat this week. It’s been delicious to pull back and focus on the work. I’m getting clarity with Presences of Absences as I continue to weave the tapestry of a story about learning to listen. It’s hard, satisfying work and it makes
And . . . it’s raining. It’s a strange summer that’s unfolding. I spend time organizing my manuscript, my writing paraphernalia, and recipes because I’m setting intentions in the kitchen too. I’m letting the book rest for a few days, anticipating an opportunity for concentrated focus time soon, and the opportunity to putter at home
Summer’s back. I printed out the fourth draft of Presences of Absences, bought new colourful highlighters, flags, and post-it notes, and am heading into a different season of writing and editing away from the computer. Perfect timing. Because it’s time to sit on the deck and watch the finches, and on the grass in front of
It’s the wettest start to summer I can remember. Gloomy, but the garden seems to be enjoying it. The gardener, less so. According to the weather forecast, I’ll spend the day with words—writing, reading, with maybe a trip to the bookstore thrown in somewhere. Not a bad way to spend a day. # # #
It’s blustery, and not quite what I like the end of June to look like but we need the rain. It’ll be a good day to spend with words: nothing wrong with that. Perception is reality. It’s a good day to have a good day. And all that jazz.
Spring goes out like a petulant teenager. It’s cold. I pull on a hoodie, long pants, and socks (socks!) to stay warm, and close the doors and windows. When I pass by the den on the way downstairs to the woman cave to write, I spy Maya curled up on a blanket on the sofa wearing
It’s gray, damp, and cool this morning—a respite for those who don’t appreciate the heat. A gift of disappointment for me. I appreciate our desert-like summers, relishing time spent outdoors at this time of the year and mourning every day that isn’t hot. Summer is so fleeting. It’s not even summer yet and there are still