The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world. And he must hold to this illusion even when he knows it is not true.
I’m back in the woman cave with my manuscript open, weaving threads into the work. I will far exceed my thousand word target this day and it’s satisfying to be back in the sandbox of my first draft.
I’m approximately 62% from the goal I set to complete this first draft at the end of July. I’m fessing up right here and right now that I’m not going to make it.
When I set the goal I didn’t take into account life. Stuff’s happening in July that will keep me from the woman cave for a good chunk of time. I’m okay with that.
I’m recalibrating and loosely moving the target completion date to the end of August. (For a moment there I had a flash back to the days when I managed projects at work. Then, like now, there were times when plans needed to be adjusted.)
August is my busiest canning month so that may be a sporty goal to set, but I’ll go with it for the time being. It’s sweet to be the project manager and the key stakeholder and the worker bee that pulls it all together—we all understand and work so well together.
Anyway, it’s back in the saddle of my office chair this morning. I’ll head to the garden after I meet my writing goal, and then—finally!—await arrival of our new dining room table and chairs.
Its gonna be a good and simple happy day. Speaking of simple happy, I think we’re past due for a list.
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Carmel ice cream sundaes.
A recipe card on my counter with a notation: from Cousin Ruth. (It’s for roll kuchen. The recipe card, the roll kuchen, and my cousin all warrant a spot on the simple happy list, so this entry is three in one.)
Beetroot and greens for supper.
Morning glory climbing tall on the trellis we rigged up for my flower pots in the spring.