Monday, August 14, 2006

Writers Don't Clean House

Big ole Ophelia sleeping off an attack by Isobel. Do you see the dip in the chair under her? When she hops down, the dip remains, and no amount of fluffing will poof it back out. How do you put a twenty pound cat on a diet?

Big week coming up. Final edits are due back from Sandra Ruttan, which means her book Suspicious Circumstances will be making its way through the process to the bookshelf.

Interviews for the paper include a weaver, a wholesale pottery company and a new center opened up in a house that was likely part of the underground railroad. I'm still finishing up the agenda and program for the Pen & Quill Writers which meet this week. Still working on a line edit off the submissions list. There's a grant to finish, an insurance problem to fix, three reports to write and a huge pile of mail to be answered at the day job. My novel still languishes in a drawer waiting for a spare moment for editing. But bigger problems loom...

The puffs of dust that pop up every time we sit on a piece of furniture was one clue that the housework has been sadly neglected of late. I might have noticed that the library carpet has enough cat hair on it to make another carpet. Grandgirls comment "don't ya think it's time to work in the garden? I can't even see my pine tree!" did nibble at my conscious about the fact that things are getting just a bit ratty around the edges around this place. But, it wasn't until I got up this morning and realized I have no clean towels or underware that my inner Martha Stewart broke through her bonds and forced me to admit that we are currently living in a swamp.

I need a wife.

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