Friday Forays In Fiction: Excuses, Excuses, Excuses

moar funny pictures

For the second week in a row I must confess in this accountability post, that I've given zero attention to the files of my stories for the entire week. Yes there have been extenuating circumstance--the trip to my Mom's where I was helping in her post surgery care and on the third day banged my shin which led six days later to a trip to the ER that was followed by eight days of mobility restrictions and an antibiotic regime that mothballed my brain. Yes, it can be said, Life happens. Priorities shift by necessity. And I should be flexible and not beat myself up when I fail to perform to my expectations. But then it seems that life has been happening to me for the last thirty years and my stories seem to be the first things that get put on hold while I wait for life to settle back into a groove.

It could be another month even more before I am settled back at home with most of each day's hours belonging to me alone. And even then it's not like life is free of surpries and chaos there. It is already feeling as if my stories are floating away or trying to. Like helium balloons on strings that are slipping through my fingers. I feel my connections to Mobile Hopes and Crystal's story fading and that saddens me like the loss of a loved one.

A few years ago I had my sights fixed on aquireing a laptop, putting all my hopes and expectations of being able to have 24/7 access to my files right at my fingertips wherever I might be; to take themw ith me when I traveled whether that was out of the room, out of the house, out of the trailer park, out of town or out of state. For three years I have seldom be out of arms reach of them for more than a handfull of hours. And still, in terms of finished stories, I've little to show for it except more unfinished stories.

I have seen on my travels about the blogosphere that there are those whose lives are more chaotic and more filled to the brim with commitments than mine and yet they have found a way to finish stories and novels even, in some cases, to get published. So it follows that there is something deficient in my own commitment to what I claim is my dream and my bliss.

No more excuses. I must re-engage before the strings slip out of my fingers and entirely out of reach.