Curling up like a salted slug, retreating from the world. Plus, the fridge is leaking. It’s always something.
I’ve been leaving my office door open a lot, but I think that has to change. No use in having a door if one doesn’t shut it every once in a while. Now that I have the option of having some space and quiet while I write, I’ve found I prefer it. I can work in the middle of chaos, I just don’t want to nowadays. Maybe because I’m getting old and cranky. The past few years have been finding out that what I can endure and what I would prefer are two vastly different things. Considering the few years before that were all about finding out I could endure just about anything, perhaps it’s a natural extension of the lesson.
Time to turn inward, excavate the story, and find the bones underneath Ruby’s brassy exterior. I also need to think about the collar–I’m thinking brass, and spikes. Hurtful.
Anyway, today is for a closed door, Aretha Franklin, and deep breathing. For getting to know a Red Riding Hood I don’t very much like.
Of course, I don’t have to like her. I just have to write her. In the process I’ll find out why she is the way she is, and understanding will breed compassion.
Over and out.