No writing this morning; the puppy emptied himself of about 2 liters of liquified puppy-innards. Writing took a back seat to toxic waste disposal. This makes writing at break rather important to me.
10:00 — pulled for urgent job-related issues, no break this morning. Write at lunch.
12:20 — wrote for 10 minute, went out to hunt a bear to eat.
15:05 — Pulled back to urgent issues this afternoon. Slept instead of wrote. It wasn’t a good or bad choice. It wasn’t much of a choice at all.
22:25 — Went to bed and thought about my protagonist, got up and wrote. 15 minutes. I am virtuous, and deserve sleep.
Did you really hunt a bear and eat it? That’s so exciting
Oh, certainly, but it isn’t anything unusual. Here in the wilds of Southern Oregon rough-and-tumble is just a day in the life. It’s fairly common to have to machete-hack a path to the car each day, facing down a pack of wolves at the gate, or to have a pitched rifleshot punctuated chase with outlaws on the way to work. Hunting a bear for lunch is just our way of relaxing before the more challenging tasks of the afternoon are upon us.
Awesome. I’m totally moving to Oregon.
I want to see a picture of the hollowed out puppy.
And only a picture.
You’re certain? I don’t mind shipping him up to visit. Not for long, of course; two decades would be excessive.
One would be all right, though. Even one and a half.