Well, tomorrow begins the writer's conference. My husband has been hounding me to have something ready-- something that will wow our workshop teacher into submission of letting us into his school-- Iowa... The top. What I really think he means is that he needs to have something. I'm not worried about me. I'm doing this for fun. Or at least until there is enough pressure put on me and I can't remember why I am doing it... or for that matter, why I even write. Oh yeah-- because I love it. Because it is my passion. But I am going through painting withdrawals and am disappointed that life has not offered me enough time to do both.
Today my dad and I built a deck for a gazebo. It is Father's Day. And not to get all sentimental or anything-- but sometimes I am amazed at how well we get along, how good we work together. It wasn't always that way. But today was good-- remembering the times we had building my house. There is a confidence when we work together-- not needed to be proven. Oops, I'm getting sentimental. But really-- I love my dad. I really do.
As for writing... well, one thing at a time. It makes me appreciate the simplicity of Sunday construction. I don't know what to expect in the coming week-- and to be honest, I am a little scared. I've been away from it all. Off painting. Writing is a different way of explaining the world. And I am out of practice.
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