A garden scriptorium

I’m sure that somewhere deep inside, my DNA will show two uninspiring attributes that might confound the people who dig into these sorts of things, you know, examine what makes a person tick. I wonder if that double helix would show hidden codes for procrastination and vacillation. I look at the blood that seeps out of a deep scratch on my hand: the procrastinator says it will stop oozing soon; the vacillator says should I put a band aid on that, or what about clean it first and coat it with an antiseptic cream.

So here I am in 2016. Six weeks have passed. I’m waiting, thinking about restarting work on my new novel, which incidentally is 50,000 words written and needs a thorough rewrite to flesh out the good bits and abandon the not-so-good bits.
Where the P and the V of my DNA fit into this is simple. Do I wait for the copy-edit of my work-in-progress Uncharted to return from my editor and get that out of the way so to speak, or do I get back to my garden scriptorium and do the work Brandon’s Bicycle is crying out for.
See what I mean.

Summer View

Summer View

Then there’s the self-made promise to get on with the job of updating a website and making it jolly-well interesting. It’s about time I talked about the person who has upgraded the site and made it look that much better.
So here goes. This is a start. The sun shines here in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. It is mid February and I’m out in the garden scriptorium.