Crap, I missed Samuel Delaney at an annual writer's reading at Marygrove College in Detroit because I was working. The confession is I have been so distracted (typical of me) that I failed to remember to look who this year's writer was and when the event was scheduled. The reality is, I'm the new kid on the block at work so I couldn't have attended anyway, but not remembering is indicative of my absentmindedness and I have to do better.
I wrote a draft and I'm happy with it. Happy because it speaks to something that matters to me. Happy because I felt creative and expressive in the process. Happy because I'm motivated to write again and not simply bitching to myself, "Write, already."
I'm sick of being a work-in-progress. I'm in my mid-life especially given my families histories. Neither am I okay with the as-is. Back to being a work-in-progress, it is only mildly okay if you're someone who finishes projects, and I tend to be a beginner of projects not a finisher. Oh, I get some things done, but the bigger the project the greater the likelihood I won't complete it. I'm not a list maker for the same reason. A good list maker is a good finisher. Me, not so good a finisher.
Anywhoo, despite my allergies clogging my sinuses to go along with my clogged up mind, I'm really in good mood. Today is my Saturday. I feel more relaxed than I have in months. I'm writing. And yeah, those projects: I'm talking to Parker about revamping and resuming activities at Piaster. There are great places now that provide prompts, but I like creating a space too. I like having a place where we can interact and be creative. And we'll be relaxed (is this one of those unearned benefits of middle age). Honestly, I admit that I don't think we necessarily write better because of prompts, but the interaction and support stirs the blood, encourages us. Well, that's about me again, isn't it? :-)