Protecting The Writting Time

  At 16:45 Friday 30 March 2018,  Good Friday the world changed.

  The much maligned opportunity to acquire quality writing time came to fruition and presented itself before me as an initial unwelcome visitor. While the past seven days have been spent composing documents for the annual tax return, I have been allowed to make notes, jot ideas and began composing a feature story that I have long held dear to my heart.

  I have also returned to a evolving story line, also near and dear to my heart, which holds a partial connection to the previously mentioned feature story. That developing story has also had more attention to it in the past seven days that it has had in the prior months.

  Not every one gets another opportunity to write. This one, shall be protected.

Healthy Time

Earlier this week I was in San Francisco, a city I first visited in the 20th Century.  Since then, I have made a number of return journeys to the city. Business,  work, and with my family.  It is the location of the moment when I realized that my Father's health was failing.

This week, it became the catalyst for a change of direction.

I'm runnin out of healthy time. 

Counting On A Miracle

  Earlier this week I received a private message from a person whom knows, how shall I say, my history. They provided me with some information about my eldest daughter. When I went to verify the information, their report was confirmed and the last known connection that I had to my children, was now gone.

  So, once again, in the words of Bruce Springsteen, "I'm counting on a miracle, to come through."

A Piece of Crap

I was watching the Syfy channel this week and thought the film was "a piece of crap".

I changed over to another channel and was watching some horror film and thought it was "a piece of crap."

I have actually been told that some of my writing is too good and I need to "dumb it down".

So this week, I am working on a "piece of crap".

It will probably be a blockbuster.

Plagued By The Memories

Plagued by the memory of the women in my life.

They show up in my novellas. They show up in my memoirs.

The show up in my nightmares.

Sometimes, they collaborate on the issues that haunt me.

Lost Love

Sailing.

Daughters.

Australia.

Solitude.

Writing.

I'm Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

Houston, we have a problem.

Nothing as dramatic as the O2 panel exploding off the outer skin en route to the moon.

Nothing as devastating as Cyclone Tracy on Christmas Eve.

Proportionally, just as devastating.

My writing laptop took 25 minutes to boot up today and another 7 minutes to open a browser window.

I'm gonna need a bigger boat.

Or a new laptop.