Writing to a Deadline

The month is draining into the long tube that carries all of our days away. I’m only here for another week and a half, and I’ve started another novel. I’ll try to get part of the draft done before I leave, but as always, it depends on inspiration and mental state.

Today I did more editing than writing because I was tired. I had trouble going to sleep last night.

I was looking at the garden today, and examining the second zucchini plant that is coming now, and I found more raspberries growing in my yard. I ate the ones I found and searched for more and then decided I should pick hazelnuts. Unfortunately, true to Bashful’s statement, there is a worm that drills into and eats most of the hazelnuts. Only a few are left intact, about five percent, and the squirrels have already made off with more than enough, especially considering that they are still a bit green. They are tasty, however, so I think I’ll set up a spot where I can grow them a little more seriously. There are a few open areas where I can let them flourish, although I’ll have to figure out something to scare away the squirrels.

I took a long nap this evening, so I am likely in for another unsettled night, but it is always nice to use the futon in the new part. It’s a lighter part of the cabin, with its high roof and many windows. The main part of the cabin is more like a winter cabin, with its insulation and seven foot ceiling.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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