A hiatus from old style blogging must be maintained, but new and future blog posts must be shorter, easier, to the point.
My social media realm feels incomplete without the pink bordered Mommyland page, so I’ll take the lead from other successful bloggers and focus less in the way of words.
Words must be saved for the novel. Dare I say novels?
My book has progressed and stories have been put down, though much too unorganized as characters keep forming and situations twist into each other.
My voice is clear; a comforting sign.
But the task to organize is harder than it seems. It feels a lot like your mother telling you to clean your room.
I whine, “But why? I’ll do it later!”
I’ve started to think about a sweet and easy love story. A story that blooms like new love and flows by the seat of my flowered board shorts.
We leave for Maine in about a week. Summer sun and wind that pulls the sound of laughing children to our front door does not call for serious writing. It calls for a story of a boy and a girl and lazy days and hearts aflutter.
Maybe the anthropologically tough stuff should wait for Fall?
My girls pilfered the book shelf while I was out running yesterday and left my reading assignments all over the house. They do this sometimes. I view their choices as research guided to me by my messy makers and the pull of our Universe; published works that have put their authors on best seller lists.
And so it continues; writing, reading, blogging, pinning, tweeting, cooking, laundry, husband managing, children tending, packing, kissing, yelling, tidying, yoga, running, running, running.
Toes tipping in all areas remembering that balance is key.