What I do with my time

I find procrastination difficult, if not impossible. If I talk about doing something, then I find myself having to do it, If I don't, I feel incredibly guilty. The result? I am seldom standing still.

On moving to Memphis, I first talked about renovating our Memphis townhouse. Before next week has come and gone, it will be completely repainted inside, re-carpeted, re-constructed and ready for the Holidays. I'm proud that I haven't done it all myself. I couldn't as I did serious damage to my right rotator cuff when I painted the bathrooms and guest bedrooms by myself. (No reaching above my shoulder -- doctor's orders and maybe there will be surgery in the spring if my physical therapy fails to bring relief).

Rich, our handy man, is my Elton. I'm his Murphy. He made the yellow walls, red kitchen ceiling, and scuffed woodwork disappear; installed new ceiling fans; and replaced all our 90's brassy door handles with new oiled bronze ones. My contractor transformed our garage into a cozy hide-away office with built-in drawers and files for me and a storage space complete with a wine cooler for John; rebuilt the pergola between the garage and house ridding us of dastardly carpenter bees who made it rain sawdust everyday; laid in soothing white stones to get rid of the weeds and overgrown plants; and, for his final act, knocked out two closets, and gutted our master bath to create an oasis complete with a double size river rock shower, tiled floor, copper vessel sinks and wood cabinetry. My Internet shopping for said items saved us over $5,000. I am my mother's daughter. The house is now ready to sell or settle into for the long haul. You guess which it will be!

I've talked about writing. So, what are you writing, friends and family asked? First, there's the blog which you are reading. It's my way of connecting with the world; it's my therapy. Coming to a very strange city, quitting work and taking up the solitary avocation of writing was not my brightest move. But the blog is not my only writing.

When I was 40 and married to the sailor Jim we traveled down the inter-coastal waterway to cruise the Bahamas for six months. At the time there were no cell phones, email or uTube to report our experiences to everyone so I wrote letters. Those letters, which were written on my first PC on the boat, are the basis for my writing. It's twenty years later and time to write that novel I promised myself I would do. I always thought that I would finally be "mature enough" to have the intellectual insight to pull it all together.

Boy, what at surprise I'm having! It hasn't been easy, to say the least. There's my error filled and disjointing writing to contend with, but, more difficult, is the emotional roller coaster I'm riding again. The working title is "Mystery Woman". The protagonist is a woman named Janie. It's her story. Is it like mine? Yes, but not exactly. Will her adventure end like mine? I just don't know yet. Are names changed to protect the guilty? Absolutely!

When will I be done? When I'm done. I'm about half way through the first (or should I say second as the letters are my first) draft. Do I have a publisher or an agent? No, I won't even consider it until I'm satisfied it is worthy of publication and at least two others agree.

Does all this take up all my time? No, I play a lot of electronic solitaire, am webmaster for an nonprofit here in Memphis, and take long walks with my dogs, Fred and Joe-Joe. Do I miss work? Yes, I'm afraid I still do, but, at least, I don't feel guilty about not working any more (i.e., It's a small blessing). Maybe, with practice, I can actually become comfortable with this skin. Stay tuned.