I know where mine is…it\’s still in bed sleeping.But since my life has been declared a disaster area, the only time I can find for writing lately is either at four thirty or midnight. For some reason, I am actually more creative in the morning lately. Midnight, the only thing I want to to is watch Clint and Stacy redo wardrobes on What Not to Wear.
So I am sitting at the old desk, it\’s dark outside, and the dog is snoring. At least I have coffee. Lots of it. I have my file open. Another plus. And I am avoiding the act of figuring out which file is more current, the laptop version or the PC version. But as far as actual writing, it\’s not quite happening yet. At least not the fiction. I do have a couple of essays that need writing, so maybe I\’ll at least crank out a draft on one of those. Something, even,hey, a blog entry will justify getting up this early, right?
What I really want to do is search on line for a new house. Because our house, the one we are living in right now, the one we built while Dad was dying, now has a contingency contract on it. So we are technically homeless. Or as my brother says, I\’m his unemployed, homeless older sister. I could use this in a memoir, couldn\’t I? I could use a \”little\” creative license and say we were homeless with 2 children, three guinea pigs and a dog for months. That\’s the latest rage in memoirs, fictional embellishment. I could really dig up some sympathy. But I really need to dig up a house. One that doesn\’t have a room falling off and sinking into the front yard, like the one we looked at yesterday.