The skies of this area are never as richly blue in the summer as they are in the winter. That dark blue reminds me of the color of Alex's eyes a few hours after she was born; her eyes were already open wide, seeking the source of the light beside my bed.
How easily I'm distracted! I was going to make this post about writing, not about how it felt like I was holding my very heart in my arms as a new mother.
In spite of having tried to cement in a new habit of getting up and writing in the mornings -- that was why I finally decided to do the National Novel Writing Month challenge -- the habit crumbled with the first cloudy daybreaks and a strange sleep/dream cycle that hits me around 7am, causing a very sound sleep and some VERY interesting dreams, so that I sleep in past 9:30 a.m. most mornings and am left bemused and unmotivated.
So much for that new habit.
However, what I have of a new story (minus the stupid word count efforts) is pretty solid. I love the story, in fact, and have had a lot of fun with the main character so far. She's feisty and furious, inventive, and mischievous. Her name is Roj, and bullets won't stop her.
God alone knows when I'll get a chance to finish the story, with the holidays coming up, the onset of a shitty cold last night, and the lovely prospect of coming down with the stomach flu that hit John last week, and Lillian this morning.
Back to the old evening habit now, of taking my place in the comfy chair in the bedroom with pillows to prop me up, my laptop glowing, my faithful dog Howie staring accusingly at me from the bed because I'm in his favorite spot, perhaps to write, perhaps to re-read what has been written, and to thank God that for this hour, at least, I'm not plagued by that stomach flu.