The Writing Process–on a cold, late May evening

Oh, boyohboyohboy.  What a strange day it's been.  A temperature drop from yesterday of almost 40 degrees, plunging us into quite cold and curl-up-in-front-of-a-fire mode.

Which I think I'll do after I finish the pages for today.

I'm at that point where it just feels like slogging through mud to get to the end.  I want to be the hare, racing along, zipping to the end, not the tortoise.

But, like the hare, I've gone off track while the tortoise has slowly and steadily plunked its feet down and crawled on.

My lesson for this month?

Be the tortoise, not the hare.

But, goodness to godness, Miz Agnes (as we say down home), I sure do want that zipping along in the breeze rush!

Nevertheless. . . . 

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