Amid summer visitors, I’ve been battling a pinched nerve. The writing has come to a temporary halt, but I love sharing my home with those I adore. The Burrito and his mum were two of our guests, and they’ll be back again this coming weekend. They we are all off for our summer hols, and I can’t wait for some Midwestern hospitality with my hubby’s family, and probably some frozen custard as well. I’ll share generously with my grandson, and by the time we return, August will be nearly over. I had hoped to finish up this part of The Hawk, but I have managed a goodly chunk of words. Part 11 is going to be significantly longer than previous entries in this story, which will be completed sometime in the not too distant future….
Ha ha, boy, for how long has that been my mantra? Yet I have added impetus to wrap up this saga; a new idea is itching to be written! I haven’t had a new novelistic notion for a while, and it has been a salve to roll characters and motivations through my mind as my right leg aches and the Giants lose. They have been dismal since the All-Star break, about the same time my leg got niggly. But life is a series of ups and downs. Books take their sweet time, vacations linger in the distance until suddenly ours is ten days away and I’m almost done with the second to last part of a tale three years in the writing.
Hunter Pence is back for San Francisco and maybe my team will start to win some games. Just in time, methinks, as the dog days of summer approach.
I haven’t done much sewing lately other than some hand-quilting on the Big Bright Quilt. I’ve moved to the bottom half of that behemoth, and it’s fun finding different backing fabric when I end a thread. That process reminds me I won’t always be exploring the mid-1960s. The new idea takes place starting in 1995, quite a change from where I’ve been stuck. Or maybe that’s a little harsh; one of these days I’ll write the concluding sentences of The Hawk and that chapter of my life, as well as those characters, will be through. Writing a first draft is its own animal, and will never happen for that particular set of plot-lines again. When routine is shaken, even by the best of events, I long to return to a fictional realm as real to me as the Giants’ recent slump. Summer can be wonky for writing, but autumn isn’t far away. I’ve meant to blog, wanting to share pics from our little getaway, some of the quilt, even of my grandsons; Grandmaster Z visited while The Burrito was here, and those chaps are getting so big! I’m blessed to have hands so full as if I blink, something will fall away.
Yet, I’m fully cognizant that all which needs to be attended will receive my proper attention. Many deep breaths have been taken lately, appreciating all these blessings and maintaining perspective. A pinched nerve is a drag, but grandkids are a hoot. Bad baseball bites, but ticking off quilted blocks makes me smile. Time with family and good friends balances the fictional world I often inhabit; life is a matter of seasons duly acknowledged. When I take the opportunity to pray, the center of my existence remains at peace. And maybe that’s the biggest lesson of all.
Well, I know it is, just sometimes I forget. I want to accomplish so much, but there is only one of me. Again, it comes down to filtering the treasures from the noise. But it’s not easy, a daily adventure. Forgive me if this is a redundant post; maybe this blog is merely to keep myself on track. Books and quilts will reach their ends and aims. Reveling in love comes first.