Slouching toward Bethlehem

[rolanni]

. . .or maybe only Monday.

Well, I had great plans for today, chiefest among them wringing a complete first draft out of my underachieving brain and onto the page.  This did not happen.  Honest to ghu, how long can it take to write a single story?

I did shovel snow — the snow was wet, the day was warm — and took care of bidness correspondence, some of which begat more correspondence to be done, um, later.  I paid medical bills in-hand, and there’s still money in the checkbook.  I did the laundry.  I fell on Mozart, which may have been his plan, but wasn’t mine.  Just generally speaking, I’m at a point in my life where the less I fall down, the better I like it.  Reprising the role I play in Real Life, I have been an Evil Liberal on teh intertubes.  I did not do the dishes, because I didn’t want to.   I received the wisdom of the LJ Flist on iTunes, for which I thank everyone who shared very much.

. . .and that’s all the news &c.  Time for lunch and the girding of one’s loins for the morrow.

Progress on “Intelligent Design”
5,373 out of 10,000 words OR 53.73% complete

Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.

Comments

About canes

[(Anonymous)]

I used to be able to get real blackthorn canes from an online shop called Lollysmith. Those are no longer available, courtesy of the European Union, which chose to limit the height of Irish hedgerows. (?!?) The store still sell canes of beach, hazel, apple, ash, and cultured blackthorn.

I bring Lollysmith up because I don’t know where else you can find a neat accessory. It’s a rubber cane tip with a fold-out stainless steel spike. It’s great for walking on ice. Helps when walking on snow. Fold it out of the way when you go inside. Somebody who carries a cane in Mane could do worse.

Joan C
Yeats’ final lines to a fine poem are:

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Raymond