Can't believe it's been two years since I've posted here. I've written about a million words elsewhere, from student comments, to Facebook quips, to Twitter posts, but neglected my first blog. What is it about writing that is so satisfying and so frustrating and such hard work? Why do I yearn to write then look for distractions when I actually sit down to do it?
Revising my YA novel as it is the only one close to publication-ready. Two thirds of the way through my mystery novel, and the WWII one is on hold. Lost the passion for it somewhere. I need to go back soon and read it and the ideas will flow, but that means hard work and neglecting the other two projects, so I'll wait.
Been thinking lately about what is disappearing around us: ashtrays, telephone dials, cassette tapes, 3" disc drives. What do I do with all those 3" discs that have digital photographs? No way to read them. I'm wondering if I should switch all of my cds now before cd players become obsolete, and dvd players? Who needs them if we download everything?
I still have, and love, good old paper books though. In spite of the threat of their demise they remain part of our lives. Yea!