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.
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.