I've been writing like a fiend, trying to revise my memoir of my traveling ranger days. This can be distressing because it means butt firmly planted to desk chair, something relatively hard for me to do. I did take a small break and ventured onto the lake:
1. Look at those cute swimsuits at Athleta! Shouldn't be surfing. Get back to work.
2. Yum, chocolate almonds. I've almost eaten the whole bag. Won't be able to fit in cute swimsuits.
3. Oh, the cute neighbor is going somewhere! Where's he going?
4. I wonder what my friends are posting on Facebook.
5. This book blows. I'm hopelessly stuck.
6. Is that the Yard Nazi mowing?
7. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.
8. I could really use a nap.
9. My house needs vacuuming in a big way.
10. Maybe I should try to cut my own bangs.
11. I really shouldn't have tried to cut my own bangs.
12. I feel kind of sick from all the almonds.
13. How will the ex feel about this chapter? Do I really care? No.
14. Maybe I should quit my job and be a seasonal in the Park Service again. It was really fun.
15. Hey, this book isn't all that bad. I'm a genius!
Here's enough news to keep me going: the anthology that my latest essay is in has come out. Check it out here: http://www.pvstories.net/.
Writing and wilderness don't always coexist very well. One is a sedentary pursuit, mostly spent in the head. The other takes me away from the house for hours but soothes my 40-hour-have-to-work soul. How to combine the two without cheating one? I haven't figured that out yet.