Then the Olympics ended, and I decided I needed some post Olympic time to get my life in order before resuming writing.
In my defense, because frankly if I don't defend myself no one will, although I'm sure Clarence Darrow would have, were he still around, because he defended whole bunches of people who did a lot worse than not getting back to work, when I'm writing a book (I actually had to pause there and figure out where I was going with this sentence, I got so involved with Clarence Darrow and what a great name for a cat Darrow would be), I don't get much else done.
For example, today I was at the library and I saw a brand new two week only biography of Louis XIV's second wife, a very interesting woman, and I didn't take it out. I said to myself, no, no, I'll be working and won't have time to read it and it'll still be in the library whenever I get through with the first draft and I can take it out then.
They're used to me talking to myself at the library, so hardly anybody blinked an eye.
All last week, I thought I'd get back to work today, even though I knew I had a meeting of my good deeds organization at 2 this afternoon (at the library). I figured I'd work in the morning and meet about good deeds in the afternoon.
But then on Friday, I thought, well I'll finish gathering my financial stuff to send to my accountant Mr. Imagination this weekend and then on Monday I'll go to the post office and while I'm at that end of town I'll go to Hannafords.
To my horror and amazement I remembered I was supposed to be working on Monday. No time for the post office. No time for Hannafords.
I weighed my options. Work. Hannafords. I decided the most important thing was getting my financial stuff sent off, because April 15 will be here before we know it. And since I wasn't going to get any work done this afternoon, I might as well not bother working today at all.
Now this is a step in the right direction, given that I didn't work last week because I went to the Philadelphia Flower Show on Tuesday. This time, at least, I didn't say, well if I can't work on Monday, what with the post office and Hannafords and my good deeds meeting, then why work at all this week.
Well, I haven't said it yet, at least. You might want to ask me again on Tuesday.
Actually I did do some work. I reread the hundred or so pages I've already written in Blood Wounds. I read it in between Hannafords and the library. So tomorrow when I get back to work, I'll have what I've already written fresh in my mind.
Saturday my brother and I had lunch with our mother. I had decided I needed some more manila folders, one for Blood Wounds and one for the various foreign rights contracts I've been getting for Life As We Knew It, the dead and the gone, and This World We Live In. I ransacked my mother's file cabinet for a couple she could spare.
It turned out she had a folder devoted to my brother. Not that she loves him best, mind you. I found this wonderful photograph as I was tossing stuff out of the folder and taking it for my own.
Somewhere in that crowd is Eleanor Roosevelt. I guess the photographer didn't think she was worthy of including. On the other hand, that exceptionally adorable little girl in the background is me.
See that sweet Innocent expression on my face? Even then I was thinking, hmm, I wonder if I can get out of working this week!