I'm one chapter away from finishing the first draft of yet another book. I'm just waiting on an email from my source on all things Wildlife Biology, and I can crunch it out. The scene, the whole book really, is on my back burner while I wait.
That leaves my front burner empty. I'm not used to having an empty front burner.
All the talking that I have done over the last few weeks about my previous book has the sequel to it trying to move up to the front burner, but I know I can't really move it up yet. I've just turned up the heat and I stir it a little more often.
I guess this is how people have clean houses. I vaguely remember what a clean house is like. It was nice. Maybe I should put that on my front burner, getting my house in order. There is plenty to do, finding the shoes I know I have for Jordan, hauling the stuff up to the attic, picking up the fabric scraps on the floor in my craft/formal living room. I could empty the dishwasher BEFORE the sink is overflowing and BEFORE we run out of forks. I could file the paid bills and shuffle the stack of papers that I never really know what to do with. I could put away the laundry that is in baskets on the couch, I could make my bed, or even wash the sheets. I could kill spiders. I could bathe the dog, trim his nails, take him for a walk. I could make a meal and freeze it... if there was room in my freezer.
I could do so many things, and I will, but right now my burner is glowing in front of me and what do I do? I put my ear buds in, turn on the Coldplay and Joshua Radin I just bought, and write. I write because no matter what I think, no matter what I do, words spill out of me and I have to write them.
Some people have to cook, some people have to talk, some people have to run, I have to write.