Sometimes the truth can be well, over-rated. Take this weekend for example…
Last night both boys spent the night with a friend- an all-night video fest. So this leaves me home alone. Not a problem- I’m alone here all the time. Of course, with three yappy dogs, I’m never truly alone.
But two of the dogs are small and other one is ancient and just about deaf. So, at 12:42 a.m, when back door glass shatters- the deaf dog snores on and the two little ones dive behind me, trembling.
It’s only me.
The phone is down the hallway in another room and I hear footsteps crossing the terrazzo tile floor. In about five seconds, whoever it is will be standing in the bedroom doorway.
Now- isn’t that interesting?
Of course it is. It’s much more interesting than me telling you the truth. The truth is- I spent the weekend trying to organize my IPod and staring at a blank computer screen.
When the writing doesn’t come easy- I can always find a chore that needs my urgent attention- like cleaning out the IPod. Before I “fixed” it, I had enough music to last a week on a deserted island. But I had four of each song and chapters from audio books popped up in random playlists. So about the third time Patty Griffin sang “Rain,” Bill Bryson would interrupt her and tell me how the Universe was created.
I had to do something about the situation or else spend the upcoming week driving long distances on busy highways with Led Zeppelin one moment and the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society the next.
That’s how come no fiction got written this weekend. I had chores to do. Honest.
