Day Stealer

There it is. The day stealer that blew in to my Sunday afternoon. And me feeling like writing — I dunno — a couple of novels, maybe. Little thing, eh?

Suppose I should be thankful for the other stuff, yeah. For what turned out right. For D, the apartment super, actually in. That I was able, at last, to convince D a fizzing water pipe inside the second-floor ceiling, and resultant dribbling thru my bathroom ceiling below, did actually warrant an emergency call to ANY plumber. I am especially thankful for the Chinese gent, coming on a Sunday, hauling upstairs his case of tools, three and a half hours later.

I wonder how the really good writers, the ones we all know and love, how they managed, or worked around, the little day stealers in their lives...

Picturing...mmm...Miss Shakespeare. For my fun of it.

"Millie. Millie, cut me free of these constraining garments. And set another ewer under yonder weeping joist. Wait. Ack, poor ewer. I knew him, Millie. Ewer bore my beer. Fetch another, Millie."

Meh, just funnin' about. Late Sunday night, I jotted a start to...Fond Memory...working title. Maybe something for Protag. Only put down the idea, and some imagery. Too hot, too tired, to do more.