The noise is problematic as I have pages due to an editor friend, to see if she'll take me on as a client. In my noisy alcove I write; I re-write, and I can't see that this will ever be finished. Non-writing friends ask how it's going; writing friends know better. Almost, I say. I'm getting there, I say.
|Quiet Austin sky.|
Here I am, my mind wanting me to cook because it needs to quiet itself. It's like any artwork I have done. I vacillate between it's not so bad, hey - chapters 3 through 7 are good, and let's just set fire to the whole thing.
Think I'll go make some gazpacho. And jack up the Vitamix to 7 so I can't hear my own thoughts.
What do you all do when you can't find "the quiet"?