Man, I shouldn't be allowed a summer vacation. For someone who is a little too comfortable with structure-less days, the absence of getting the boys up, fed and out of the house by 8:20 each morning has been permission for chaos-of-the-creative-kind!
A business peer from my past life as a marketer in the corporate world presented on the topic of diversity. In particular, his discussion of the Maori (pronounced mow-ree) people really hit home. A tribe indigineous to New Zealand (by way of Polynesia), whose sense of decision-making and the consequent action-taking makes the habits of our southern statesmen look lightning-fast. ('Course the western world as a whole is also criticized for this too-speedy virtue.) The Maoirs discuss, they mull, they consider, they reflect. Over decades.
So do I -- to the point where I make myself frustrated by dancing around my studio, bopping back and forth, moving this to there and that to here until . . . (aughhhh!) my left brain FINALLY kicks in and I have some sense of reality and deadline.
My point to this lengthy introduction (I write like I create) is that my lovely second book (working title Vintage Redeux) is finally gaining some momentum. The background papers are chosen; the new camera is now (somewhat) understood; the projects are sorted and in trays; and the brain cells designated to inspiration and that zing have begun their slow, squeaky waking up process. It's just that it feels like I'm dragging a 300-ton ship through the Sahara with only a big, fat jute rope and my no-muscle-to-speak-of arms. The good thing is that now the ship has left dry-dock and the course is set for Manuscript Deadline. It's the maintenance and down-time while in port that takes a ton more effort than I ever care to admit.
And all in the name of jewelry -- who-da' thunk it!
