I have been in full-on domestic mode recently, so there hasn't been a lot of writing. I cleaned Hannah's room (a 3-day undertaking), baked banana bread and plum cake, cleaned the kitchen, washed curtains, scrubbed the new sunroom, repotted some plants, cleaned my plant stand so I could move it and the newly repotted plants into the sunroom, crocheted a new border for our bathroom curtain, reorganized my recipe binder, and basically avoided writing on my short story and my term paper, both of which will come back to bite me in the butt, I know.

The funny thing is that I have actually had a lot of mental activity on several stories, but I just can't seem to bring myself to sit down for the 5 minutes it would take to jot down the ideas and bits of dialogue that are bubbling up. Why the reluctance? No one else is reading any of it (yet), so why be shy? I'm thinking that maybe it's a control thing. I don't like doing something if I can't do it perfectly or excellently, and writing just doesn't work that way. And I worry that in my reluctance, I'm going to let the interesting little bits slip through my fingers; I mean, they are not going to stick verbatim in my mind indefinitely, right?

I find that when I am changing gears to work on a project, I often need to get organized first. My school supplies are usually toted around in a jumble in my backpack, always on the verge of composting, until it is time to start studying for a test or doing research for a paper or an assignment. Then I drag everything out and sort it into piles, which I then hole-punch and put into binders, or file, or recycle, or shred, depending on what it is. This morning I hauled out my compost pile for LNR and a fresh new binder and the hole-puncher, so I hope this is a step in the right direction, that is, toward writing again.