Last week I averaged over two hours a day on writing. This week, it’s been more like 45 minutes, and a lot of that before 6 a.m. (I’m feeling pretty sleepy at the moment.)
It’s been a busy week—a luncheon for Kenny Hulshof, a trip to Kirksville, and lessons—but I think it’s more than that. There are just those weeks. Or maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t really clean the house last week. Or the fact that I was determined to finish my “O Antiphons” article for Religion Teachers Journal. (Which I did.) Or it could be that this week we’re on the offensive on the backyard trail again, and I’m coordinating a lot of media calls. (Well—a lot for me, anyway.)
In this climate of too many irons in the fire, I’m enjoying nonfiction more than I ever expected. The size of the projects is so much more manageable. I can break it down into segments, which fits well into life with two little ones. These days, my courage fails me when I consider working on my novel. The past two days I’ve enacted force of will upon it. But it takes so long to get into the groove, and then another project moves into priority one status, and I lose my momentum again. It’s frustrating.
On the other hand, I’ve gotten to create some wonderful memories with my kids this week. Alex climbed his first tree. I got to spend a couple of hours with a good friend. And yesterday—because Julianna’s glasses were broken and we had to go to the Flat Branch Center to get them fixed—we went to the spray park. And I think that’s where I’ll leave you today—with pictures once again.