Having a novel in the “line edit” phase, means I’m not writing. Well, I’m writing here and other places, but I’m not noveling – yes, I invented a word. I like writing characters, and plots, and place, and dialogue, and everything that goes into a novel. I like writing, period. But I miss my studio. Being the only patron of my four walls, probably means I could walk downtown and sit in my chair and work on the next book, but something inside of me keeps that from happening. I know it’s only been a week since I’ve been in that large blue leather pub chair. I know I could make the five minute walk. What I really need is “The Penny” to be released from its line edit so I can move on. The times we are immersed in create challenges for all. My editor has had some issues related to the COVID-19 disaster, and I have to be patient. So, I’ve devised a scenario of household repairs, chores, and seasonal necessities to keep me busy. Today there was the Meditation Garden to declutter. Tomorrow, the front yard and then vacuuming the SUV. Saturday, I suspect you will see me out on Little Traverse Bay in a big yellow kayak. I’ll get the bikes down and make them ready for summer and take a ride. By Saturday night I’ll be relaxed and … and… what about next week? My mind turns to mush when I’m not writing. Even though, I’m, like, um, writing right now. You get my drift. I wonder what people are doing who’ve lost their jobs, their means of paying rent and taking care of children? My musings are balderdash in comparison. I think I know that. I think that’s why I’m not writing.