It seems to be what is happening every day at the moment. I look out the dining room window in the morning and think about what I have planned for the day, and in the evening I am letting down the blind wondering what I haven’t got achieved.
And so far my writing seems to be on the back burner. Not where I want it to be, but things have been busy in the house with colds, bad backs, decisions to move house, son wanting to play his games on the laptop and having large disruptive tantrums when he is told no, very nearly getting nominated to run for the local council, cleaning house, packing house… things just happen and sometimes the things that I really want to do and probably really need to do in order to keep my sanity are put off until I have time. And it seems that the evenings aren’t my time either lately.
I have started taking my writing notebook to bed with me. I so desperately want to write something, even if it is only ideas, stories are born from ideas… just wish I had time to impregnate the idea with a storyline and mix a little plot into it as well.