Friday, November 21st. -( -3°C / +27°F @ almost 4:30 pm )-
I’m listening to “Sixty Years On” by Elton John, from his first album? Reliving a lot of the turmoil from the late sixties, early seventies.
My NaNo Novel has gone over 98, 000 words, is dealing with the early sixties and pouring salt in old wounds.
Somebody once told me that he’d heard that the measure of a writer is what he or she does when there is “Nothing to write”.
Sometimes I think I will never know what that feels like. I have so much to finish writing. Other times I think about writing and my head fills with pins and needles and I can’t imagine sitting down to start.
Yeah, it gets weird. But
The orange cat scattered packing papers all around the living room again. When I tore one in half to roll it up and use it as the kindling and put the second half on the couch, Moe, the orange cat, jumped up on the couch, smiled at me for being so thoughtful and perched himself on that piece of paper. Yup things are back to normal around here. —WordPress’s special characters don’t like being placed in a ‘caption’.— & I’m not sure whether all beasts in French are supposed to be feminine or not. — But Moe’s a neutered male so he probably doesn’t care. And human languages are all inferior to meows in cat’s minds anyway — so would he be ‘Monsieur, la bête orange’? —
The grey visiting cat jumped down from the table this afternoon and did not go down on his face, and hurried and jumped up onto the cat perch on the porch without favoring his wounded shoulder.