I’m not sure whether I mean this blog space or the one between my ears. It applies to both, really.
I think it’s time to hang it up; stop pretending to be a writer, offer up this first-Friday space to someone who still is a working writer, admit that I don’t have it any more. That the Renaissance fantasy is just a huge undigested lump of research and I poke at the plotting once or twice a month, if that. Amateur hour. If somebody else told me that’s how they’re “working,” I’d tell them to get their skates on and work every day whether they feel “inspired” or not!
Ever since the knee surgeries I’ve struggled to concentrate enough to write, and that’s getting worse, not better. I always thought I was strong-minded enough to rise above circumstances like being housebound and in pain. Maybe not. Not any more, anyway.
I’m recycling a picture because last month I fried my laptop by spilling coffee on the keyboard, and since replacing the laptop and getting someone to rescue the data I haven’t bothered either to reload Photoshop Elements or to find out how to resize pictures using the built-in program. I mean, that’s what, an hour’s work, and I haven’t done it.
Darn it, I don’t want to be a sweet little old granny with no interests but her knitting and her grandchildren. The “sweet” part probably isn’t possible, but as for the rest… well, I’ve all but finished the shawl whose beginning fragments are illustrated, whereas my magically talented condottiere is still wandering around the Romagna in search of a plot.
Knitting. Grandbabies. All very good in their way, but I miss my creative mind.