I’ve sat down to post many times today, but because there were so many ideas floating unfinished in my head and getting mixed up with each other, I did mundane household chores instead. And shoveled snow. Yes, it has a therapeutic effect, and I think that’s why I like working in my frameshop, because it doesn’t demand too much mental energy on a continual basis. I work with my hands, and just as when you drive a car, much of it is automatic, freeing my mind to wander as it will creatively, without having to focus on something that’s not as interesting.
One thing I want to do is move the post, Hermetta, to Talespinning because I think I can work on the story now. It’s new, but it’s relevant to my feelings of freedom and writing. In thinking about it, my dream was always to live up in a cabin in the woods somewhere, writing, growing my own veggies and fruit, making wine, going into town once a month for the necessary staples. Now that dream is more within reason—as long as I’m not too deep in the woods for a cable modem.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology