Some Muses Are Real

There's a what-if day, and then there's the real thing.

And in LaChapelle Lande, that means getting up every day, making coffee, taking a short walk to the nearby park, coming back home, and writing.

Then taking a brief break for lunch, my special concoction of yogurt and nuts, and to read the paper.

Then getting back to writing.

Then after too much time spent sitting, getting up from the writing to move. Which means doing physical labor in my apartment, the best thing for both my back and the writing.

And even for the apartment.

Following my short list of indoor chores, I get to stretch out on the rug or my rarely used yoga mat and read for a couple of hours from the pile of books that litter my bookcase, every table and chair, and the floor.

All of which are related to my writing.

Then before heading out to the pub or to join friends for dinner, a movie, a bike ride, I do a bit of revising of what I've written.

Fortunately, I'm inching along on this particular writing project, aka Book II, with the help of some of my friends who actually want to read the damn thing. Which, of course, is why they are my friends.

So the pressure is on, with self-imposed deadlines looming, including finding an agent. And that all adds up to my putting this fun little blog on hold for the near future.

I will miss posting my idle thoughts and related stories on aging, but I'm guessing that much of what I would write here will find its way into the book.

And so, my loyal blog followers, you, too, may consider yourselves members of my Muse Group, for which I am truly grateful.

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For Book II updates, feel free to email me at madmoon55@hotmail.com. And no worries, I won't get distracted from the writing. I'm no longer online at home, a decision I made to, well, not get distracted from the writing. ✍✍✍

Composing a What-If Day

If I were retired, I imagine a typical day would go something like this:

I’d wake up without benefit of an alarm clock;

I’d drink a large cup of coffee while reading several newspapers (in print, of course);

I’d text the most interesting newsy tidbits to friends;

I’d write in my journal, letting the pen or keyboard take me wherever my wandering mind was inclined to go;

I’d finally get out of my pjs, do more back stretches, dress for the season, then go outside. I'd wander at will in the neighborhood, maybe with binoculars, or a shopping bag to pick up necessary vittles on the way back, including a bowl of chicken noodle or split pea soup from the corner restaurant;

Back home, and before enjoying the soup, I’d sneak one of the lemon cookies I’d bought the day before at the local bakery;

Following lunch, I’d walk up to the library, read a bunch of magazines, maybe more newspapers, and schmooze with librarians and fellow patrons;

Then I’d browse the book and DVD aisles and, before checking out a bunch, I’d take a quick look at the book sale section;

Leaving the library, I’d get the bus north to the grocery store for another round of vittles, including Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia Frozen Yogurt and a bottle of wine, red or white, depending;

I’d get the bus south, after schmoozing with my fellow riders in the bus shelter, and stop at home to drop off the DVDs, books, ice cream, and wine;

Then I’d head over to the pub for a pint of Harp and whatever conversations I’d start or luckily join, many of which would be brogue-laden;

On the way home from the pub, I’d stop off for to-go Chinese or Mexican or Greek or Czech or Italian;

Before sitting down to dinner and a DVD—sometimes two—I’d sneak some ice cream and return texts and phone calls, usually to make upcoming plans to go to lunch or dinner, see a movie, visit a museum, watch a ball game, basket or base, or listen to live music.

Now of course I’m not retired—don’t ever plan to be—but as a practicing introvert, I do need a couple of these what-if days per week, though with an important addition: writing. Weaving it around and through all of the reading, the pubbing, the schmoozing, and spoonfuls of Cherry Garcia, making my way eventual way to some publishable stuff.

But in the end it doesn't matter what kind of day it is, because I know that much of it will find its way into and through my writing.

Lucky me.