When the only things on my agenda these days are physical therapy twice a week and an ongoing weeding appointment with the garden, it is surprisingly hard to find an hour of time in the day to devote mind, arms, feet, booty, and soul to writing, which is what I’m trying desperately to do this summer. It is particularly hard to do when it the heat is a sticky brown too-tight felt hat, my little cabin is a yeasty oven, and the mountains are swaying in the breeze, beckoning to me. The following is a list of things that I have realized actually do count as “writing time”
-facebook, tastespotting, ordering another Urban Outfitters cardigan, watching youtube videos of toddler heavy metal kids singing in New York about zombies, or anything that involves baby animal pictures.
-lying on the floor of previously mentioned cabin listening to Rabbit Fur Coat by Jenny Lewis and the Watson, hypnotic and massively screwed up (the album, not me), spooning my copper colored dog, and/or eating ice cubes. Handle with care because Jenny stirs up the deepest kind of mojo. I never listen to it when I’m actually writing, because I find the lyrics beautifully distracting. Also, handle Copper with care because that dog can get gassy, fast.
-planning my spectacular Independence Day Dessert. It is going to involve much red dye 40, white and blue food coloring, me thinks.
-watching Black Books on Netflix. That show is very British, very drunken, and very hilarious.
-swimming. There is a swimming hole not even two miles away. Totally bikeable, totally awesome.
-being excited about all the goings on in the world of politics, and equal rights for all.
-farmers markets and art walks
But shoot dang, things are happening fast! I’ve got a gig with the magazine Outside Bozeman, and I just got hired on to write an article about a non-profit Raptor rescue for another local magazine. Heck.Yes.
For a writing soundtrack, I prefer Phillip Glass’s Etudes for Piano. Try it. Wear your glasses. You’ll feel smart!”