Just a quickie because I've got to get some pages in before I head down to volunteer at the kids' school.
See, I'm not all weird. They let me come into the school! And work with kids and everything.
I wish I had the luxury of being weirder, though. It's been on my mind a lot. By any standard, I have it pretty good. I write about 4 hours a day, given the interruptions of kids, laundry, the Internet, email, promotions, blogging, laundry... you get the drift. It's a lot. I'm making good progress, page wise, on SCAR.
But it's not enough. It's not enough to submerge myself into my work like I'd like. For instance, I haven't started to dream about Trinidad and Castile yet. Oh, the weird dreams are here (blanket-sized contact lenses, an old rickety house with a lot of corridors that reappears in various dreams, a certain family member with a gun who knows how to use it...on me). So it's started. But Trinidad has yet to make an appearance.
I think I may need a writers retreat, alone, up in Grand Lake. Pretty sure the husband isn't going to go for that, what with kids, my scheduled events and social stuff. Like today, I'm spending about 4 hours at the school. Special event.
Hell, I don't even know when I'd get away.
So. Huh. How do you bury yourself in your fictional world when the real world is snapping at your heels?