Skip to main content

Flying by the seat of my pants...

I'm never setting a writing goal again. Tomorrow is Friday and as of yet I haven't written one word this week. THIS was going to be the week I put on those orange heels and covered new ground with my WIP. I was going to write and not edit.

Monday and Tuesday got away from me completely. (Husband is better, to all who asked, thank you). Then, I woke up mid week with a few red spots on both arms. Mosquito bites? Spider bites? I wondered. Then they started to spread. I had Poison Ivy - which I'm highly allergic to.

Made a trip into town to see the dr. Cortisone shot and an RX for strong cortisone tabs, and a $90 bill later. I'm counting on some relief and soon. It's welty, red, swollen, weeping. The blisters, not me, though I could weep easily enough. When the famed itching started I thought I was going to scratch my own eyes out. To anyone who has not had it. You do not want it. I promise. It's awful.
I've dealt with one crisis after another this week.

Tomorrow, barring anymore unpleasant events, I will write. But I'm not making any promises. Not setting any goals. I'll fly by the seat of my pants.

Are the odds ever stacked against you when you plan to write?

Is it just me? Am I jinxed? Have a black cloud over my head like Charlie Brown?

Whatever, I'm off to bed. Tomorrow has to be better.

Blessings!

Comments

  1. I write when it calls me but I have no deadlines and I write purely for my pleasure. I imagine having a schedule would take the fun out of it.
    When we are famous, the responsibilities grow.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You're right, Gail. It does take the fun out of it. But the funny thing is when I sit down because I "make" myself, after a few minutes I'm back into the groove where everything feels right and I love it. So, I guess we all have our process. However, life can certainly intervene and suck us away. Sometimes it pulls out every ounce of creativity and that's when I want to fight back. Of course I'm only fighting myself.
    Who know what's right or wrong. What works for us is what's right for us.
    Love love love the pics on your site. Even when I don't comment I'm there checking it out.

    ReplyDelete
  3. That's why I don't set writing goals either.
    And I hate poison ivy!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I hate poison ivy more every minute. It's made a mess of me. Swabbed with calamine and popping cortisone pills and antihistamines.
    But I'm tying myself to the chair after lunch and not allowing myself up until I write something. Even if it's only a grocery list!

    ReplyDelete
  5. I'm so sorry to hear you have poison ivy! I'm highly allergic to that too, and can definitely relate to what you're going through. Feel better (and less itchy) soon!

    As for writing, I find I do better when I don't set myself a writing goal. Inevitably, if I say I'm going to write x amount of words in x amount of time, something will happen to push me off track. Then I just get frustrated. Flying by the seat of my writing pants always works better for me too.

    Have a nice weekend!

    ReplyDelete
  6. I, too, am very allergic to poison ivy.I have a few little dots of it on me right now and I don't know how I got it. I try to wear rubber gloves when I go outside to pull weeds and such, just in case I run across some of it. One of my sons is also very allergic to it. Try not to scratch it! I don't usually set writing goals, but I try to set submitting goals. I am not keeping up with them, though, I just hate trying to figure out who to send the stories to.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Shingles: not the roofing kind...

Just when I thought things could not get any worse at our house my husband R came down with shingles. On the day I had to be at the hospital in Columbus with one adult daughter in the morning and then go to Cincinnati to pick up her husband after his stomach surgery the day before, R gets up with a rash that had turned to blisters. We made a quick dash 40 miles away to our family Dr. for a check up and yes my diagnosis was correct. Shingles! So armed with two medications we headed to the medical center to see our daughter, then to Cincinnati to pick up her husband and then home to collapse and hope that that's the end of our downward spiral. I'm worn to a frazzle and so is R. No time for writing or fretting about writing. I do feel good knowing that I have some contest entries out (short stories and one novel) and will be working on my novel at least two days this coming week. I have my writers meeting on Monday at Great Expectations Cafe and Book Store and look for...

A Revolutionary New Diet...

Recently I went on a diet. Like most diets this one was scheduled around a major life event. My daughter's wedding. There would be no shopping for a mother-of-the-bride dress until the pounds came off. Typically I go on a diet on Monday and by Wednesday I've folded beneath the weight of a German chocolate cake. I've been hijacked by as little as a stale pink sugar wafer discovered in the dark recesses of the bread drawer. But this time things were going to be different. I could tell as I went to get the mail and discovered the first crocus of the season. Life was looking up. Even though an icy rain began to fall, my spirits weren't dampened. Not even when huge drops pelted me on the head and I had to dash inside. My latest plan would revolutionize dieting. If it worked for me it would work for the world. I smelled a book deal. I could see myself all made-over and liposuctioned sitting between Oprah and Dr. Oz. It was full speed ahead. Gone were those complex menus...

Mother's Leather Britches...

My mother gardened all her life. It was one of her great loves, next to family, God, and country. Because she grew up during the Depression, she learned to use every last item from her garden for canning, preserving, drying or pickling. Every year at the end of the green bean season she made leather britches, dried beans that would keep for the winter. These were the last beans hanging on the vines. The beans inside had grown to full size with outsides a bit withered. They were beyond the stage to can or preserve, or even to pickle. Although her fried pickled green beans and corn bread were the best in the world. (Well, next to her biscuits and fried apples.) Mother started the drying process with clean beans. She would spread a clean white sheet on a table in the wash room and spread the beans out on that, giving them space to dry. Sometime she would carry the sheet outside and put them on a table in the sun to further the process. The next step involved needle and thread ...