I was thinking about my childhood home. Funny, how the memories were of things. I don't remember the moments precisely, just the view.
Large, soaked maple leaves in a pile on the ground.
A dark stairwell, three stories, to our floor.
Chain link fence.
A dog yipping and running about the grass lawn.
Sunny day, wet ground.
A pale yellow track suit with an eagle on it, running through a field.
Faded, peeling mint green porch.
A front entrance rarely used on a porch we were rarely allowed to play on in the front.
Looking through a telescope at street signs.
Looking at street signs with my father that I couldn't read because I was near sighted.
Riding a bike to the house that leaned out further into the road to a boy waiting curiously, each of us 6 or so, each of us wondering who the other was. My first friend.
Memories are funny sometimes. They just come back when you're not paying attention, and sometimes, the things furthest way seem more real than the things today. Tricks of the mind I suppose.
I have done some work on my story, and have written some of my plot ideas down on index cards. I'm working on characterization, I believe a strong character is the only thing required to make a story great. If you can get a reader into that person and to relate to that person, well, then, you've won.
This book is a bit more difficult to write than the last two, because I want it to have depth. It's not lighthearted.
I've gotten lazy, though. I had a few thoughts I wanted to write down over the week, but got sucked into a book I'm reading.
A working writer's worst enemy is a really good book....
I've almost decided I need to actually set 'reading times' so I won't read through my writing times. It's a fine line. Some writers don't read while they are writing, but I don't see how I can do that to myself. I'd be miserable. It's also contrary to the other advice, where writers should always read.
There's no winning in the life of a writer.
I blame January, the longest month ever, for my slipping habits.
It's not such a bad January right now, though, weather wise. It's making me ancy to get out and run again.
The roads and paths I run on are clear now of snow, so I'm free to, it's the trusting that I'll be able to maintain it, and, well, not remain too crazy cold.
I'm getting ancy. I need a bunch of runs in the winter to keep me feeling like myself. March is always the hardest running month, though, because that's when we sometimes get walloped with snow, and then I'm stuck between attempting to run through it anyhow, or waiting a few days.
I know I'll head out tomorrow, in the morning before I do anything else.
Oh January. It has to be someone's favorite month.