Hokay. BamBam is back at school (touch wood) after a false start yesterday. He's ok, really more ok than I thought he could be sent home for, but whatever. I was only having brunch with my mother after two solid weeks housebound. I got it to go, and ate it with my fingers in the car en route.
So here I am with some time to think, and it's a strange sensation after the upheaval of the holidays. I'm cleaning out the house, filling bags for Value Village and whoever has a baby next. I think I need to do this in my mental space, as well.
THE WITCH OF BADENOCH is still alive, after six years of rewrites and bashing my forehead on the keyboard. I've learned a lot and changed even more, so I'm ready for a fresh start. I have a white-knuckle sort of approach sometimes, I try so hard it's like I'm holding my breath. I'm determined, and that's good, but you can't force this stuff. So maybe less thinking, more listening. I have the outline in my mind, and I'm not going to try to wrestle its flailing subplots and howling characters onto paper. For now, with so little time available, I'm going to put it all into the writing. And except for a bit of blogging, anything to do with writing that is not writing will have to go.
Do catch up with Damomma, if you haven't.