More Voices

The voices are back.

I think the wild wind we’re having this month is keeping them in my brain. And wild is the truth. It’s the middle of February, for goodness sake, and the sun is shining, temps are in the seventies and everything outside is being pushed by a steady blast of air.

The weather is messing with my writing process. My desk faces a window, giving me a peaceful view of trees, shrubs, and the occasional bird. When it’s thinking time, I contemplate the great outdoors and come up with some decent ideas.

Not working for me today.

Maybe the problem is my story. Make that both stories.  Juggling two manuscripts is a new job for me and I’ve yet to work out a schedule to maximize my work day. Both involve BDSM clubs, but the characters are very different.

It’s almost impossible to get words on the page when characters from another book whisper in my ear and tell me what they want to happen next in their story.

Maybe a good dose of chocolate will encourage one group to keep quiet while I finish up the other story.

 

A Life of Leisure

As I sit here staring at a blank page, I can’t help but wish I was a cat. Not a lion or jaguar, nothing exotic or ferocious. Just a house cat.

My reason?

The yearning for a life of leisure.

When I look over the top of my laptop, I have a clear view of a big fluffy black and white cat as she lays upside down in a chair near the window. She’s asleep for now, and when she wakes, she’ll groom herself, wander into the kitchen for a snack, and then find someone in the house to love on her. She might chase a toy across the floor or sit in the window and watch birds flit around in the tree just outside.

Behind my office chair, a grey tabby, the newest addition to our family, is stretched out on her own blanket on the sofa. She’s four months old and shifts between dead asleep to wild and crazy jungle cat in an instant. After a hard day (or twenty minutes) of killing a cloth mouse or her favorite hockey puck in the form of a piece of dog chow, she collapses into another deep sleep.

When both are awake, the cats stalk and attack each other, zipping through the house while having fun. Their lives revolve around sleeping, eating, playing, and getting a little loving from their owners.

No mortgage payment. No grocery shopping. No taxes to pay.

Who wouldn’t want that life?

Sure, I might miss opposable thumbs and a really juicy love story now and then, but I wouldn’t miss housework or gardening. And laundry isn’t high on my list of favorite things to do, either.

If I was a house cat, no one would accuse me of being a procrastinator (which is what I’m doing now, avoiding my WIP when I should be adding words to the total).

As far as I know, there isn’t a machine to change me into a kitten when I don’t want to work. Guess that means I need to get back to the business of writing and let my cats have their naps.