As I mentioned some time ago (and where does the time go …), my little-short-story-that-could, “No More Tomorrows,” was being published again (be still my heart) by Z Publishing House in their new anthology America’s Emerging Writers. You can read my announcement here.

I love Z Publishing :)

Because the manuscript turned out longer than anticipated, the anthology for America’s Emerging Writers was broken into two volumes. My little-short-story-that-could is in Volume One. Below are the links to both volumes of America’s Emerging Writers. Consider purchasing one or both. They hold some seriously good writing.

Volume One on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1729836720/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1543198698&sr=8-3&keywords=america%27s+emerging+writers

Volume One on our website: https://www.zpublishinghouse.com/products/americas-emerging-writers-an-anthology-of-fiction-volume-one?variant=17722976665715

Volume Two on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1729836828/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1543198698&sr=8-4&keywords=america%27s+emerging+writers

Volume Two on our website: https://www.zpublishinghouse.com/products/americas-emerging-writers-an-anthology-of-fiction-volume-two?variant=17723696840819

So what I have been doing since receiving the kind of news that would make any other writer start submitting like crazy?

Not a whole lot.

I’ve been reading … books. I just finished Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane. A sweet story. A little scary in some parts, but the kind of scary that makes you shiver and want to read more. And then I finished it and felt a little unsettled, the way I feel when I’ve finished a book by a “big” writer and am left wanting. I’m now in the middle of the latest installment of a long crime fiction series and experiencing hope and anxiety. Hope that the end of the novel will make me glad I persevered. Anxiety that it won’t and that I’ll be left musing about the contractual demands that some writers are expected to meet. A book a year. A book a year. Fail that and you have to pay back your advances. Publish before your book is truly ready for prime time, and you may lose your readers.

I’ve been knitting .. a lot. I recently finished a shawl for my sister (her third one from me, talk about being spoiled, but then she does live where they have snow and cold in the winter). Next up is a button-down shawl for myself (maybe),

a cashmere watch cap for my husband (belated birthday present and because it’s late, I’ll probably knit two although the second one will be in a merino-yak-alpaca yarn),

a lap blanket for my mom,

a sweater for a friend’s granddaughter (maybe … still haven’t settled on pattern or yarn).

Whenever I start knitting like this, I know I’m procrastinating, avoiding writing. Thankfully I’m still being productive, but not in words. Unless you count all the writing I do in my  head while I’m knitting.

Or walking. I’ve been walking a lot, trying to lose a bit of weight and burn off nervous energy. On my neighborhood walks, I’ve developed an acquaintance with a local resident.

My friend, a young red-tailed hawk making eye contact with me as if to say, “Go on, you. I’m scouting for squirrels.” Now I did zoom in with my iPhone camera but that utility line was maybe a few feet above me, fairly low for a hawk to be hanging out nonchalantly, surveying his kingdom. I walked for about forty-five minutes, looping around our few streets so I passed by him three times. Even as I headed home that evening, he was still out there, on the wire.

I like hawks. They keep the squirrel population in check.

I haven’t not been writing at all. I was in a seriously boring meeting the other day and took that opportunity to jot down some ideas for my WIP. Felt rather proud of myself, but I haven’t opened my journal since and it’s been over a week now.

I’ve also taken up studying Spanish through Duolingo and French through Babbel. More procrastination but, hey, I might die multilingual at this rate.

I have an essay that I fidget with every so often. But it’s a personal essay and why would anyone want to read a personal essay from me? That’s my problem with personal essays. I envy anyone whose personal essays are published and read and enjoyed, and yet somehow I don’t think I should write them. But I want to.

I also bought a kit to make trivets using hemp yarn and embroidery hoops.

Oh, and we have a new washing machine! The old one which wasn’t very old was leaking. Seriously leaking. We put a drip pan underneath it and sucked up water, trying to stave off the inevitable. I didn’t want to plunk down several hundred dollars for one of those fancy, digital, 300+ cycle machines.

I only need one cycle.

But the old machine just got worse even though my husband tried several times to fix it. And we couldn’t suck the water up properly so it was starting to seep into the back wall. One day while I was at work, dear husband got fed up and went to Home Depot and bought the least expensive, most efficient washing machine they had. I was so relieved he went without me. I hate shopping for appliances.

It took about three weeks to get it. My goal now is to use every one of those new-fangled cycles. It even has one for “Bedding.” I’m in love. So I’m doing a lot of laundry too.

P R O C R A S T I N A T I O N

How do you procrastinate? And do you feel guilty when you do? Or is it just part of the writing life?