Day started dark, but with all of us feeling good. S.B. happy and geared up for another tough day teaching in a dysfunctional school. Little Man proud of his no-bubba streak. Three nights without a pacifier. Me all filled up on both of them. Sweet S.B. and our growing Little Man. Putting them first puts everything else in perspective. The writing. The bills. The job search.
Waiting to hear back on a part-time position. Would very much like to work for this particular company. The people appear to be genuine, hard-working, and intelligent. The atmosphere is one of opportunity and teamwork. I'd be working with words. Editing. Though it is only part-time, it feels like it's the right fit. I want the job, but realize that competition is stiff. Companies need to do what's best. Not only for the whole of the institution, but also for each of the individuals involved. So, we'll continue waiting and we'll see. One way or the other.
Beating myself up over the writing lately. We've got a new office downstairs. It's all set up. Organized. Ready to help us create. Me with the words. S.B. with the paint. Yet we are not creating much. It's hard after a long day to sit down and think. To dig deep and pull out the necessary guts to make the best work. But it's something that needs to be done. This change of season, the cold taking away time spent outdoors, will be the best remedy for not writing. I don't have writer's block. Have never had writer's block. In fact, I think writer's block is bull. A writer can always write. There is always a choice. The past few days, I've chosen to write very little. And now that I'm back here. Tapping away at the keys. I feel that there's a big run coming. The gate is opening. The images are coming. This next stretch of shortened, darkened days will prove to be productive.
The novel is finally done. Pilgrim's Bay, the book I did a signing for a year ago yesterday, is available through Target and will be available elsewhere very soon. It's very hard to create and maintain a year long buzz for a first novel from an unknown writer. Especially when the unknown writer is the buzzmaker for his first novel. It's not a very good situation and is not doing Pilgrim's Bay justice, but I'm sick of sounding like some prick who's busy tooting his own horn. The book has been self published. It's still available through my site at LULU. But you can also purchase it through this link: TARGET. If you have a moment, an extra $10.50, please give it a read. The giving season isn't far off, so maybe you can give a copy to the reader in your family. Heck, I'll even sign it for you, if you'd like.
Other than that...
Probably due for a trip up north. The colors ought to be in full swing. The air as crisp and clean as it'll get. And honestly, I wouldn't mind swinging an ax. Chopping firewood for my folks. Wielding the chainsaw. Hauling and stacking wood in the shed. That's something I really miss. Something I've done ever since I was a kid, but that I've missed out on the past few years. One day, if we can afford it, I'd like to put a fireplace in this house. Perform the ax wielding ritual here.
And now, I hear Little Man waking upstairs. Out of his bed. Feet padding around. And my writing time has come to an end.
