I'm in a really good place right now. I mean that literally. I am tucked happily into my extraordinarily soft bed leaning on an overstuffed European pillow with my beloved new netbook on my lap piping Adele through my earbuds. My son is contentedly sleeping in his room and my husband is snoring softly beside me. There is a light rain pouring outside, a true rarity here in the desert. All is right with the world in this moment.
I have started writing towards a book. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I am writing a book. Really I am jotting down a paragraph here and there as I get a second in my ridiculously busy life. At this rate, I should have put something together by the time my son graduates college. He's six now, so that is a pretty realistic goal. Everyone around me, the non-writers, are expecting me to shoot something out in the next couple months and be on the press circuit by this time next year. I love how they all think I will write the great American novel simply because I tell a good story here and there. Writing is wicked hard!
I am terrible when it comes to details. I get bored with them. I think I get bored when I'm reading them, I do not think in minor details, and I certainly don't write them well. Colors, sounds, smells...when I start to write about them I feel like everything I say has been said. It's all too cliche. And while I'm on the cliche matter, why can't I find the stinking accent on my keyboard? It shouldn't be this difficult to correctly accent foreign words. These are the details that I get caught up on. See? Tangents.