This has been a frantic couple of weeks. The most contact I've had with my writing life is reading articles in Writing Magazine, and stroking my printed out manuscript, like some warped Bond villain who can't even care for a cat.
Work is hectic: I've been completing and producing paperwork until midnight most nights, and then dragging myself through the days like a zombie on sedatives.
On top of that, the children have been their usual lovely selves, creating laundry as if they're determined to collect prizes for it.
Then on Saturday we heard that my husband (we've been separated for nearly two years) was flying out to Nepal to help with the rescue efforts there. He volunteers for an urban search and rescue group, but is also a paramedic, and is fantastic in a crisis. He will thrive on the adrenaline, and we hope he will save some lives. The kids and I are very proud of him...but I've added twitter-tracking him to my list of things to do. It's like another hobby, and kind of time-consuming at that.
It seems like this isn't a good time to fit in writing, but I'm hoping that this little sabbatical will bring me back to my novel with a clear head. Meanwhile, the next idea is stirring and stretching...it needs to put on a lot of weight, still, but I've begun the ruminating. Maybe this will be The One...?!