As I write this, my garden is calling. The weeds are growing and flowers blooming.
But I'm supposed to be a writer! A writer writes. So why am I squatting in the garden, playing in the dirt?
One reason is certainly that my characters have become very lazy. Instead of doing interesting things or following the suggestions in my plot outline, they sit and think boring thoughts. I believe that they are as bored with them as a reader would be. At the moment, I'm trying to figure a way to get inside the story and stick a pin in their collective behinds.
It's getting hot. Now that's a perfect excuse to sit in the air conditioning and tap away at my word processor. Arkansas heat is the midwest kind (I call it 90/90; 90 degrees and 90% humidity). That means I can work up a sweat taking a cool shower.
Speaking of cool, I came across an excellent simile a couple of days ago: "cool as the other side of the pillow." I like it. I think I'll steal it when I have a place to use it.
This is not getting the weeds out of the ground or the words into the manuscript. I think I'll go outside and take a picture of some pretty flowers to post at the top of this, then take a nap.
Of course, when taking pictures in the garden, I can't take just one.
