As the chores of the day start of stack up against me, the one thing I realize I won’t be doing much of is writing, even though it’s Sunday, one of the best days for it. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, drinking my coffee, and pondering the scene I’m working on just now. When that cup is empty, I’ll be off to what has to be done: Homework projects, ducks & chickens, clean up, run errands, set up the Christmas tree, cook, general decorating, baths, and of course, at some point, I’d like to get a shower. I try to make writing a habit, something I do every day even if the best I can accomplish in the time given is to rework a sentence or two, or even just open the file and stare at it. What’s clear for today is there won’t be a block of time where I can do more than just think about what I want to write, visualizing the scene and working through various permutations of action to come up with something I feel is believable and works well. Oh well, I guess life happens, and now my cup is empty and I’m off to find my boots and tend the ducks.