Elusive Focus

Boo and Snow waiting for me to play ball

I have so many things I want to do right now, that I can't seem to focus on a single thing. 

I'm struggling to get my key plot points figured out before I can really get a good start on Helen's Story (I really need to come up with a better working title). My mind continues to think up changes I should make to my finished manuscript, Guardians of Grace. (Which means it isn't truly finished, so it's more of a final draft—a classic oxymoron if I've ever heard one.) And I continue to think up ideas to toss into the sequel, Earth's Grace, even though I've told myself to wait until NaNoWriMo in November to tackle that manuscript. And Lordy but I've got ideas for a prequel, Obsidian's Wings. It's no wonder I haven't blogged in weeks...

But wait! I'm perfectly capable of piling even more guilt onto myself. 

There's my pottery. I've neglected my pottery studio for a full year, so I took a couple of hours to straighten it out and assess its condition. Bags of clay are brick-hard and must be rehydrated. Greenware waits patiently to be bisque-fired, but when I look critically at it, I'm ready to toss most of it into a bucket of water and recycle it instead. I'll never be a good potter if I don't carve out time each week to practice the craft. Meanwhile, it creates a nagging little niggle in the back of my mind, drawing my attention away from writing.

As does my knitting. Oh sweet yarn, how can I abandon thee? That one's easy. I really should stay away from sweater patterns that call for fingering weight yarn. I'm lucky if I make it through an inch a week with the current linen-blend tee-shirt I'm working on. It'll be done about the time the first blizzard hits next winter. There was a time I could knit a complete sweater in a month. Sigh.

 Pollinator Garden along the railroad tracks (2018)

I'm doing okay with the gardening...so far. The flowers, that is. The vegetables are questionable because of the heat and drought we've experienced. I only got one decent batch of radishes before the next batch withered away, and my spinach bolted a month ago. I'm afraid to see what my beets and turnips are doing underneath the soil. Probably getting tough and woody. My one dog, Snowy, likes to munch on the turnip leaves, so there's that...

My reading list is suffering from Attention Deficit Disorder. (Or the reader is.) How many books can one person read concurrently? I must have at least five going. They're great books, but I don't always seem to have the concentration left at the end of the day to read without falling asleep mid-page. So I start another one because it's too darn easy to get caught up in the latest book that Facebook slips into my feed with a tantalizing photo of a bare-chested, long-haired werewolf/ dragon/ vampire/ fae prince/ alien/ alpha/ billionaire type. If the female character sounds like she's full of sass and snark, I'm a goner. I'll never get through my official reading list that way. 

One of the trails at Great River Bluffs State Park

But the worst thing about too much to do and too little time? My pups are getting fat because I'm not getting out for long walks around the lake or hikes in the state park with them. So am I, for that matter. 

I need a vacation. Or a clone.

Great River Bluffs State Park

When Current Events Get In The Way Of Fiction

Back in 2017, I began my first novel, Her Yarn Is Organized. The book is about three middle-aged knitters motivated to political activism because of current events. I finally gave up on the book because my plot couldn't keep up with what was actually happening in real time. It was outdated before the first draft was, well, drafted. Someday I'll figure out how to make that book work because I love Julie, Maeve, and Lyndsay - my main characters.

I tried to be smarter for my next book, Guardians of Grace, by setting it in the near future. It ends in the year 2035, and the sequel will pick up in 2050. Even then I feel like I'm racing against time to get the book published before my future world becomes current world. My latest book, Helen's Story, is historical fiction taking place between 1945 and 1951. I should be safe, right? My problem is that one of the characters is a VMI cadet (Virginia Military Institute). My Dad went to VMI, so I have a lot of resources to help get the details right. I've got photos, letters, his yearbook, and a lifetime of listening to stories about his time as a 'Rat'. I've even been able to interview one of the few classmates still alive today. And then, this week, VMI is splashed all over the news—and not in a favorable light. Granted, my story takes place more than 70 years ago. But will my book be less marketable because of one of the settings? Hell if I know. 

    Darn current events. Even history isn't safe.