Get Serious About Those Resolutions or Quit!

Last weekend, the great 3-day President’s Day Weekend, I was Run-Over -By-A-Train sick and got slim little done at all. A sad waste of precious time. I managed to make a batch of currant-oatmeal cookies Saturday afternoon and survived by drinking copious amounts of Yerba mate green tea. I knew I was on the mend late Sunday night because I didn’t lose my cookies!

All better now, I have great plans for this weekend. Sure I have that treasure trove of fantastic parcels of satins and rayons and cotton blends, and let’s not forget the fur. Defer! I Have that painting upstairs calling plaintively to me, pick up a brush PLEASE, or a sponge if you prefer! Defer! My big goal is to learn Sound Forge, the sound editing software, and get some use from my Snowball microphone. I shall experiment on creating a Podcast!

I have five short stories in the Otto and Socks series in the final draft stage. I plan on making several different versions of me reading one. Perhaps one with an introduction and follow-up, a  fore and aft commentary. Maybe one with just reading followed by one with reading in a more lively, story-telling style. I’ll do as much as I can while Ma is basking on the porch and I can have quiet in the house…I hope I can get the hang of it without excess anxiety.

I am certain I have the key ingredient for mastering this obstacle to greatness, the one thing that will ensure success in this instance and beyond, the catalyst for merging creativity with technology. This one item will boost my butt into orbit and my sci-fi will fly. You know what I’m talking about; ebony, searing hot, mug-staining Coffee! And lots of it, guaranteed. (FYI, I designed the mug graphics using Zazzle, great place.) I’ll probably need to whip up another batch of cookies as an acid absorber (never a store-bought cookie!). I may post a couple versions next week and get votes, if I’m brave enough.

Of course when Ma does come in and the radio goes on, or my brother comes over, or (dread) I get too frustrated, I’ll already be upstairs, near the studio. How long can I listen to the poor painting whimper without going to make it all better?