It’s true that writers spend hours and hours in front of a computer, but it’s not all typing time.
Sometimes the mind wanders, thoughts stray and eyes drift to the world outside.
This is what I look out upon, and I’m grateful to have it.
My wife says we need more color, but I’m content with green and splashes of white.
Two novels are about two-thirds complete. (My experience suggests the last third takes as much time as the first two-thirds, so if my math is correct, I’m only halfway through those projects.)
I foolishly accepted a challenge from a writer friend to try writing a humorous short story. Very foolishly. This is devilishly hard, has consumed more than a month of writing time, and is still not very damned funny, which is at least ironic.
I got a notion that a mystery involving an old geezer and his grandson would make a fun story with opportunities to talk about life and death, youth and old age, tradition and change. I’m making notes.
If you can’t stop and smell the roses, at least try to enjoy the view.