We had frost last night, but the sun came out today so I was out there again, plugging away at writing Ozias, Prince in Peril. Let no one tell you writing novels is an easy job: my father used to call it “the life of Riley.” I got pretty sick of Mr. Riley after a time.
Maybe it was as high as 50 degrees, although I doubt it. In my novel, winter’s just about over and spring is coming. If only! Meanwhile the villains are trying to hunt down Prince Ozias–now king by right, but the Bad Guys hold the palace and the city–and haul Queen Parella out of Lintum Forest, spy-mistress Gwenlann is trying to stop them… and after writing three pages, I was ready to go back to bed with all the covers over me. But this is my calling and I have to do my best.
Some of my friends wonder why I continue to write outdoors when I could just stay inside and do it. My reasons are these: trees, wildflowers, sky, clouds, birds, bees, squirrels, and being able to smoke my cigar without stinking up our dining area. Plus no phone calls.
One comment on “The Frozen Writer (That’s Me)”
I think we’re setting up for an early winter. I just came in from mowing for the last time this year. 56 degrees F, which is coolish for this time of year, out here in the desert. My outside work is just getting started, for this year. I have to prune my mesquite of small branches, then hopefully turn the chainsaw loose on some branches. Then I have to overhaul the chassis on my lawn tractor. Somewhere along the line, I need to do a bit of work on the pickup, and by then, I’ll be hunkering down for another broiling summer.