Today’s song title is from The Black Rider.
I am a writer. Some days I forget. It’s easier than you’d think — I am easily distracted and have a six month old who likes to put things in his mouth and is on the verge of taking off at high speeds. Possibly headed for Mexico. And you know, when you drink as much wine and coffee as I do, you barely have time to nap, let alone chase the baby or create things with your brain.
Our action script is languishing at a major agency. We can’t submit it elsewhere until we hear back from them. I’d tell you what I think of that, but I don’t have enough money to put in the swear jar even if I give myself a bulk discount.
We’re about halfway through an outline for a second spec which will be really great if we ever get back to it. Not only have the holidays put a damper on our progress, but we’ve also been sidetracked by a really excellent opportunity for a side project (which will probably have to become our primary project for a while).
And me? I’m writing here every day, but the content is of questionable quality most days. I have a book review scheduled for the next issue of Noneuclidean Cafe which I need to get off my ass and write.
Also, I wrote another 55 word story.
Mrs. Huxley woke, panicked, searching the bed. She came awake; the baby was between her and Paul. All was well.
One day she’d wake up no longer a mother. She’d find that the moment between sleep and awake was real, and motherhood the dream.
She hugged her baby tightly, praying she wouldn’t wake up soon.
In other news, we took the sliding doors off the closet and it is already ten thousand times more functional. I am looking forward to putting my clothes away. (Really.)