This is my last day of vacation, and as I anticipate Monday, a swell of nausea roils inside my stomach at the prospect of work. I’ve enjoyed two weeks with my dad and my sons, cleaning out closets, decorating and taking down decorations, going to parties, and eating until my belly sags. The sad fact is I want to do too many things and, because I’m a working girl, vacation is the only time I can pursue all I enjoy with any quality of time.
I suppose I should set goals: set a schedule to write, even though I’ve neglected my dream of being published in the pursuit of my family roots last year. Perhaps an analysis of my spare time will produce a few more minutes to use wisely. I’m aware the unpredictability of caring for my elderly father can rob me of those spare seconds, but there is always extra time if you look for it, right?
So, without excuse, I pledge to write a little every day, starting with this blog post. I have two novels in rewrite, one novel midway in process, and another two waiting for attention. Surely, they are more important than watching television or sleeping past 5:00 am. Maybe by next January 1st, I’ll have more to show than mere promises to myself.
Will you join me?
