Now that summer has finally showed itself here in New England, after weeks of gray skies and dreary mornings with rain splattering our windows, I'm hoping to be inspired by the imagination and whimsy of my children.
The novel is progressing, taking it's own turns and surprising me as I write. I've begun sneaking it in while working. In between answering inquiries about 401K's and minding my schedule adherence, I'm typing away to myself, lengthy emails of scenes I've been meaning to sit down and put to paper at home. Since I'm, nearly literally, glued to my seat at work, I have no excuse not to get writing done. Except, of course, that it might be frowned upon by my employer.
The people around me read or otherwise goof off during their down time as well though, so if they can sit and watch live coverage of Michael Jackson's funeral or skim through the latest Nicholas Sparks novel, why can't I at least be productive?
Still. I'd rather be chasing bubbles.